


The joys of the universe

by reminaissance



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming of Age, Drama, F/F, Family, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Era, New York City, Original Character(s), Romance, Slice of Life, Unrelated Anna/Elsa (Disney), and anna is a writer, non-incest, so elsa is a med student, they meet one night and shit goes up before it goes down
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 309,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reminaissance/pseuds/reminaissance
Summary: "An intoxicating rush that she can't control reverberates in her chest. Unfounded as it is, for Anna has no real reason to be this excited about a stranger she has just shared eye contact with for five seconds. But this feels painstakingly different somehow, like a shock inside her body or an earthquake within her that lasts enough beats to change the way things had been constructed in her mind. Like the stories she has read over and over again in solitude; like the ones she craves to write about but knows nothing of."Anna and Elsa's paths cross one wondrous summer night in New York City. Playing with the cards of fate and circumstance, the universe delights in bringing two soul mates together. It reunites them, however, never with the guarantee that it should stay easy. Or: a packet of Skittles, a couple of beers, one rooftop party, and the rest is history.
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna/Elsa (Disney)
Comments: 400
Kudos: 430
Collections: The Elsanna Collection





	1. Tonight is young

_**~ Fanart made by the wonderful gracepago0314 (Makura) ~** _

**PART 1**

_Most of the time the universe speaks to us very quietly: In pockets of silence; in coincidences; in nature; in forgotten memories; in the shape of clouds; in moments of solitude; in small tugs at our hearts._

—Yumi Sakugawa

 _I know I'm going to love you without questions._ _I know you're going to love me without answers._

—Mario Benedetti

* * *

The first thing Anna notices when she steps out into the summer breeze of August is just how uncharacteristic of New York this rooftop is. Merely five floors tall, the building is a dwarf of bricks that stands among giants of steel. Anna's expectation goes from a speakeasy rooftop bar with the facade of an abandoned building, to the reality of a plain, abandoned building. "My dad just bought this like last week." Kristoff half-pants, half-mutters behind his shoulder as they both struggle to climb the battered stairs that lead to a cement covered space at the top of what used to be a cluster of offices with a broken elevator. Jewish immigrants and the garment industry somewhere in the 20th century, he mumbles. It is late afternoon; the sky is being painted with a burning orange that slowly fades into a chalky blue, while the gleaming of the city lights begin to make themselves ready for another nighttime show against the stars in the sky.

The occasion: a birthday celebration. Kristoff is turning twenty one and instead of a drunken weekend parade to Las Vegas filled with alcohol he has been tasting since the tender age of sixteen, he's opted for a casual gathering of friends in some random rooftop of his beloved city. Where did Anna fit in all this? The answer lay entwined in almost three years of memories. She met Kristoff during her first winter of college before the Christmas break, placing him in a memory spattered with red noses and numb fingers, and a round of hot chocolates for those who'd had to stay late studying for finals. Anna, Kristoff and a bunch of bleary eyed NYU students had ended up kicking snow and playing slippery tag in Washington Square Park, exams all but forgotten. That was the conception of the most valuable friendship Anna has had in her elongated, short life. It had been Kristoff, after all, the first to sense—and the first to appease—her hesitancy at coming out ( _What did you think I was going to do? Throw a bible at you?_ ). The first to make her walk twenty blocks at midnight to find the best bao in Chinatown; to show up at her door unannounced in the middle of the night, disoriented and grieving over the loss of his mother. The first to dedicate a drunken karaoke song to her, and the first to make her feel like family could exist without the need of shared blood.

So what if the Manhattan rooftop bar she was expecting is, in fact, an abandoned rooftop with two large folding tables toppling with alcohol and Ruffles bought at the bodega from across the street. Anna had grown used to Kristoff and the simplicity of his plans, and she had come to embrace it.

Guided by a bulky arm around her shoulders, the pair strides to a great total of four people gravitating around the bowl of chips like planets around the sun.

"Anna's here!" Kristoff exclaims, even though the redhead is already finishing greeting the group. A fumbling of hands, really, as lighthearted and carefree as Anna feels around them.

"Have a beer, dude." Ali, Aladdin, her dearest when it comes to sneaking around the answers of an exam. "We were just wondering when you would show up."

Anna rolls her eyes but accepts the opened bottle of Stella. "I got stuck waiting for the train. I think it would have been faster if I had walked."

"You should have stayed at mine." Kristoff mumbles, a fist sized portion of ruffles in his mouth.

The redhead nods absentmindedly, unsure of how to reply. It's not that she was busy, but lately she has been trying to get over a bitch of a writer's block that embarrasses Anna enough to keep silent about needing to stay home an extra hour to stare at the wall, waiting for words to come out of thin air. So instead, she fishes for a change of topic.

"You weren't kidding when you said small gathering."

At that, Shang laughs and pats Kristoff on the back. Shang, the gentleman, on whose back Anna once jumped when she was too drunk to think straight and demanded to be carried like a princess bride to her apartment on the third floor. Shang, the charming young man for whom mothers and grandmothers alike wistfully sigh, knowing it is too late for them but perhaps not so for their daughters and granddaughters. He who couldn't refuse Anna anything and had effortlessly carried her all the way to her bed that same night. "It won't be this small, we made sure of that."

"We also made sure," Aladdin cuts in, "to invite someone just for you, dear Anna." His mischievous grin lets on more than she wishes to know.

Anna's face gives nothing away as she deliberately turns around and begins strutting back to the fire exit. "Yeah, okay, no. Happy birthday, Kristoff." She mutters.

Shang, Aladdin, as well as Eric and Eugene all make a hasty attempt to catch her before she escapes, but it is Kristoff who catches up the fastest before hooking an arm around the redhead's waist and whipping her back around. "You are not going anywhere!"

"Let me go!" Anna's voice reaches half a shriek, half a whine. Her right hand makes sure not to drop her beer even as she smacks the arm around her waist.

"It's time for you to get out there and rock some girl's world." Kristoff grunts.

"I already tried that once. It was awful."

Eric's chuckle intervenes in the exchange. "We all know how that turned out, Anna. But this isn't high school. Besides," he shows her the red cup holding his rum and coke, "alcohol will make it easier."

"How is that supposed to make me feel better? If you guys remember correctly, last time I tried talking to a girl while drunk she ended up having to call a cab on me because I was throwing up in the bathroom." It had been the damn whiskey, Anna is sure of it now. That and her friends' idiotic insistence that she talk to the girl who kept glancing her way from across the bar. Liquid courage or not, she made a clumsy fool of herself on a daily basis and that night had been no exception.

"Look Anna," Eugene says only half seriously, failing to stop the smile from breaking on his face, "the point is not in getting so drunk that you can barely stand, but drinking enough to let some of your guard down. You gotta use it to your advantage, not let it control you."

It is so cynical to realize it is alcohol they are discussing when Eugene sounds like a twisted therapist on the verge of convincing his patient to turn into a functioning alcoholic. Besides, the more they push, the more reluctant she's beginning to feel. She's come to celebrate Kristoff's birthday, to drink some and have fun, not to drink some and meet a girl. Anna has been single for the better part of, well, her entire life. She fell in love only once, when the idea of liking girls was barely threading through her mind; the situation turning out as disastrously as young, nonreciprocal love can end. It wasn't until she moved to New York with a clean slate that she learned the taste of a kiss from another girl's lips; that she groped other college girls in tentative exploration, mostly with the aid of alcohol to numb her system. Yet, never has Anna felt courageous enough to jump at the chance of having a real relationship with somebody. She was scared of the vulnerability that entailed even if the exhilaration of real love kept her subconsciously wishing that perhaps the next person she met could be _the_ _one._ However, despite her own inconspicuous hope, the thought of a girl suggested by a hoard of testosterone didn't ring well in Anna's mind.

"Look guys, I'm just here to have fun. I won't push anything that feels forced, so you guys better not push it either."

Kristoff holds his hands up in surrender. "We won't, I promise." He grins, " _This_ girl, though..."

Anna rolls her eyes and takes the bitterness of this loss with another sip of her beer. " _Okay_ , Kristoff."

* * *

As the evening begins to thread on the edge of night, Kristoff's casual celebration goes from a six people gathering to a full blown party. _Just like most social events in this god forsaken city_ , Anna thinks. You're hanging out with somebody that night who so happens to know somebody else who's either attending or having a party at that exact same moment. It takes little to agree to these kinds of happenstances, really, whether you want to network or get laid, promote a track you've been working on inside that shoe box of an apartment, or get to meet someone who will finally give you the big break you've been dreaming of. All is possible in the city that never sleeps since it's probably too high on caffeine and coke, anyways. You could leave it to fate or luck, but perhaps there is a reason so many movies show these kinds of scenes in cities like this, Anna contemplates, while she opens her second bottle of Stella and observes the people laughing and sharing words incomprehensible to her ears beneath the beat of the music. Anything could happen when you're thrown in a mix of people uninhibited by alcohol (and one or two Adderalls), with dozens of different stories and opinions. Your life could change in a matter of a conversation. It was all so passively thrilling; like a petri dish of people searching for their own meaning in the words of the person across from them.

"Anna!" it is Kristoff again, breaking her out of her thoughts. He sounds sober, but Anna knows better. Kristoff becomes mellower after a few drinks, like he can only manage his alcohol by shutting down the rest of his brain. Next to him stands a charming girl, with chestnut-colored locks falling off to one side of her shoulders and a shy smile that borders on sly. A short yellow dress adorns her body like paint and Anna has to stop herself from adverting her eyes lower than her collar bones. She can vaguely recognize her from somewhere, but before she can find the answer a hand stretches out in front of her.

"Hi, I'm Belle." The brunette's eyes briefly reflect the lights surrounding them, her smile widening as Anna shakes her hand, slightly embarrassed. "Hi, I'm—," a throat clearing, "I'm Anna."

She can feel her cheeks grow warm, her self-consciousness already nagging at the back of her head. Kristoff is being embarrassing just by standing there with his idiot's smile and proud stance, and Anna can't help but cringe internally at this whole situation. She knows the sole reason this girl is standing before her is because of her friends' already failed attempt at getting her out of her shell. And boy will it fail. Not because of a pretty girl interested enough in spending the night by her side, drinking out of a red cup and pretending to follow Anna's random rants about life, and people and inconsequential matter, but because Anna just can't do _this._ She can't bring herself to ask rather than just talk, to do what young adults do best and flirt Belle's panties off; to spend a night getting to know about her family and her fears, or perhaps what she would like to do in the near future and whether Anna could picture herself in it already.

Was there an exit for moments like this?

"Do you, uh, go to NYU? I feel like I've seen you somewhere before." She says at last. Too late to make a run for it now.

"I just transferred on a scholarship to finish an English Major. You may have seen me in the library, I never leave that place." Belle smiles casually.

The answer to Anna's question is there, at least. "Right! You tutor as well, I've seen you in the cubicles."

Belle nods excitedly, but before she can say anything else the gods of heterosexuality give Anna the miracle she didn't know she was praying for. A man with long, dirty blond hair appears from behind Belle before he wraps his muscular arms possessively around her waist, clearly more suspicious of Kristoff than Anna. The situation doesn't turn any less awkward when her best friend shows more disappointed than herself, making Anna inadvertently roll her eyes even as relief spreads inside her chest. _These guys couldn't even bother finding out if she was straight._

The brunette acknowledges her boyfriend with a loving pat on his forearms, "This is Adam, by the way."

Anna's smile becomes as genuine as it can get while she introduces herself once more, her face breaking into a grin when she watches Kristoff struggle to compose himself and shake the confusion out of his face, too bothered to mirror the cordiality.

"Nice meeting you, Anna. Are you two together?" Adam inquires.

That is a first. Kristoff scrunches his face and Anna lets out the tension she's been holding with the bark of a laugh. The whole situation has made a turn so far away from what her friends had intended that she feels her whole body relax, no longer having to picture herself next to Belle for the rest of the night.

"She's my best friend." Kristoff states defensively. Whether because he's mentally cringing at the idea of being romantically involved with Anna or because the assuming tone in Adam's voice seems to belittle his capacity of earning the attention of someone like Belle. Anna knows better than to consider the first option, which causes her to jump to his defense.

"If only I were so lucky!" She exclaims.

Taking hold of his arm, she begins pulling him away from the bewildered couple. "Now if you'll excuse us, I gotta pee and he's gotta keep celebrating his birthday... Nice meeting you Belle!" Without waiting for a reply, she leads Kristoff away, knowing they will probably miss them for the rest of the party. But Anna doesn't regret that one bit. _The beauty and the douche_ , Anna thinks. It isn't until they are out of the couple's sight that Anna lets go of her best friend and smacks the back of his head.

"Ouch! Okay, I'll take the blame for that one," he has the decency to look sorry. "You should hit Shang too, he's the one with shitty gaydar."

Anna crosses her arms. "I'll hit all of you once I find the rest." The threat is real, despite having to admit to herself that it could have gone much worse than that. "Please tell me this is the last time you guys try to set me up with someone."

The defeated look on Kristoff's face almost makes Anna feel sorry for him. Almost. "Alright, I'm sorry... we just wanted to see you happy."

"I _am_ happy."

"You know what I mean."

The genuine concern in her best friend's eyes sends a rush of affection through Anna's heart that causes her to throw her arms over Kristoff's shoulders. As disastrous as her friends' attempts have always been, Anna knows they meant well, which is what's stopped her from ever being truthfully angry at them. They are clumsy in their selections and infinitely awkward in how they carry the task, but beneath Anna's constant mortification, she has to admit there lay gratitude and fondness.

"I do have to pee." She whispers in his ear after a few seconds pass in their embrace.

Kristoff's laughter rings in her ears before he squeezes her affectionately and lets her go. "I'll see you later then." He treads away, looking for a familiar face elsewhere.

To her dismay, Anna quickly finds out from Eugene (after smacking him on the head) that the closest bathroom is in the bodega from which they bought half of the alcohol provided at the party, which means that Anna has to go down, jaywalk back-to-back across the street and climb again the stairs she's already dreaded once. _Who has a party without a bathroom?_ It makes Anna wonder if she should just go potty and go home, the temptation of laziness calling to her like a naked lover in bed. Anna rolls her eyes. Nonsensical analogies aren't going to make her go faster and it's not like her knowledge of lovers reaches that far to begin with. Besides, she _is_ enjoying herself despite not talking to many people outside of her small circle of friends. There is a certain kind of pleasure that Anna finds in being in a crowded place simply observing others interact. Like watching dozens of scenes unfolding within the same movie; made up stories sprouting in Anna's head like sparks in a burning fire.

She makes her way towards the fire exit, catching a few conversations as she goes. "—I told him, if you wanna get serious you need to give me your Netflix password."... "The laundromat across from me closed down because they were selling molly—"... "I had a crisis so I traveled to India for a silent retreat—" "Cool, my midlife crisis consisted of fifteen plus pounds and a tattoo on the ass."

Anna chugs the rest of her second beer and leaves the empty bottle by the exit, hoping her system will process it fast enough so that she can pee everything out and start her third beer on an empty bladder. The logic of nonsense. As she saunters down the concrete stairs she notices the few random strings of globe lights along the way and wonders how the hell Kristoff had thought of that and not a bathroom. She feels grateful, however, for the lights that undoubtedly save her from a fall in the dark as she approaches the landing on the third floor.

The hushed sound of voices hits her ears and Anna senses her approach before she sees her. With her eyes looking down at the steps she is taking she is unable to see but the tip of a black boot nearing the floor she is standing on. Her gaze makes the slow way up, registering as it goes, a pair of toned legs clad in tight, faded jeans; a lean torso covered by a plain white shirt, and slender shoulders framed by a black leather jacket. The moment Anna meets with a pair of blue eyes that burn under the cheap orange lights, her feet stop and her breath gets caught in her throat; if only just for a moment. Because that is all it takes, a minuscule fraction in time that carries a certain recognition that the heart knows but the mind refuses to understand. It takes a second for the girl standing before her to step aside, with an unfathomable expression on her face but without being able, as well, to tear her eyes away from Anna. The redhead forces her feet to move, not wanting to prolong this moment in silence but unable to say a thing. Passing by this girl makes Anna more nervous than she recalls ever being, and tearing her eyes away from hers feels like losing the faint touch of an exhilaration she's never felt before.

One, two, three steps down she moves until she hears the girl's ignored companion calling out her name. "Elsa!" She can't see it anymore but the inflection on that single word makes Anna believe that she is still being stared at. A shuffling of boots on concrete, a second pair of shoes moving again and the sound of retreating steps is muted by the pounding of Anna's heart in her ears. _Elsa._ The girl had faintly smelled of mint and jasmine and, for some reason, that makes Anna smile nervously. When has she ever paid any real attention to the way people smelled, let alone make her want to recall the scent over and over again like a newbie addict looking for more. The cacophony of New York hits her all at once; strangers stride past her without a single glance, taxis honk with no real purpose and the bodega across from her glares its neon lights like a beacon in the young night. It suddenly hits her that this girl, _Elsa_ , i _s_ heading to the party she has just left and any thought of heading home vanishes from her mind. An intoxicating rush that she can't control reverberates in her chest. Unfounded as it is, for Anna has no real reason to be this excited about a stranger she has just shared eye contact with for five seconds. But this feels painstakingly different somehow, like a shock inside her body or an earthquake within her that lasts enough beats to change the way things had been constructed in her mind. Like the stories she has read over and over again in solitude; like the ones she craves to write about but knows nothing of. Whether or not she can do a damn thing once she gets back on the rooftop is another matter completely, but Anna feels giddy by the mere prospect of sharing the space with someone who is capable of making her knees shake with a single look.

Anna can't pee fast enough.

* * *

Hamid is kind enough to let Anna use the employee restroom after telling her that the bodega's customer restroom is out of service. How the hell will the dozens of people find their way to another bathroom is not something Anna wishes to ponder over. She figures the most sober ones will eventually leave at that and the drunkest ones will... find a way.

On her way out she buys a bag of Skittles and crams it inside the breast pocket of her jean jacket. When she became acquainted with alcohol so many moons ago, she discovered that the more buzzed she got, the bigger her cravings turned for something sweet. And while Anna isn't exactly yay for Skittles, she also knows that she can't exactly show back up with a slice of chocolate cake in her hand; that would raise too many questions and Anna is not willing to share.

The small gathering turned rooftop party is just as she left it, except that now she opts for scanning the crowd with a more specific purpose. The beat goes on: a few girls with abysmal dancing skills are approached by a grinning Aladdin; alcohol is spilled somewhere, if the smell is anything to go by; Kristoff is trying to set up a beer pong tourney, half emptied bottles scattering on the floor, and Eric is off in a secluded corner having an intense conversation with some redhead Anna has never met before. Disappointingly so, she can't find any sign of platinum blonde hair as she makes her way to the secluded ice box that contains her favorite beer. Eugene, God bless his soul, has made sure to buy a six pack of Stella Artois and set it aside specifically for Anna. She is halfway through the pack, which means that she is tiptoeing on the edge of tipsy. With no destination in mind, she chooses to cross the rooftop towards the edge of the building, hoping to run into a pair of bright blue eyes again. The buzz of the party dissipates the thrill building inside her chest but Anna still feels as if she is being drawn towards something invisible, like a mirage she is desperate to see again.

The thrill of looking lies in finally finding, but Anna has yet to experience that tonight even if she's throwing herself at the groups of people that separate her and the edge she's trying to get to. What an irony, she muses, to stumble upon something when you aren't looking and not find it when you need it. The universe is a bitch like that. And how hard does this have to be anyway? She is not thinking of approaching Elsa, all she wants to do is see her again even if it's from afar, not in a stalkerish way but in an admiring one. And perhaps after a last glance tonight, Anna could hope that fate will work its magic and somehow reconnect them weeks later, with a glance shared across the street or a bumping of shoulders as they transfer trains.

When Anna finally settles herself by the edge of the rooftop, its wall high enough for her to lean on her elbows, she begins to wonder if perhaps Elsa has already left. Maybe this isn't her type of scenario, so she's chosen to leave, but pondering over that possibility makes Anna feel blue and she's determined to ignore it. Her gaze settles upon the Empire State Building standing tall on the east, gleaming its yellow hue against the dark of the night—

"Hi."

What a joy the universe must be having at Anna's expense that night! To drag her through a wondrous, yet brief reverie of infatuation with somebody whose name she doesn't even officially know, to let her wander around like a lonely pickle in search of somebody she couldn't find, and to be ambushed not long after, when she is least prepared. Yet, here Elsa stands. Sweet, sardonic universe has made sure to take care of that for Anna. She first notices that the girl standing a few feet to her right is only slightly taller than her, and that her platinum blonde hair is tossed to one side of her shoulder, made up in a casual braid. There is no tension in her stance. No tentativeness in the way she stands fully facing Anna with a red cup in the hand propped up on the edge of the rooftop. Blue eyes reflect nothing but a soft confidence, and Anna briefly wonders if the sparkle in them has anything at all to do with the hundreds of lights surrounding them.

"Hi..." Good gracious, she can feel her voice shake.

"I'm Elsa." The blonde says. She doesn't extend her hand to shake, but either Anna is already hopelessly hallucinating or Elsa is taking a diminutive step toward her.

Anna realizes that she needs to calm down right about now or else she would rather jump out of the rooftop. Whether she regrets almost chugging her beer or not will have to be addressed at another time. What was that about liquid courage, again?

"I'm Anna." She says tentatively. Because, frankly, what is Elsa doing here? She must have some big woman confidence to just approach Anna with the desire to _talk._ It makes her feel embarrassed when she thinks that all she wanted to do earlier was stare longingly at her from afar, like some high school boy too afraid to approach his crush at the prom ball. Suddenly, it occurs to Anna that perhaps Elsa is drunk.

"Do you mind if I join you for a while?" Okay maybe not drunk, but there is a certain hesitation laced in her voice that somehow makes Anna breathe easier. She is given the power to accept or deny Elsa's request, which stops her from feeling like such a doofus anymore. Although who is she kidding, really.

"No, of course not." Her smile comes easily just as she feels her body let go of the barest amount of tension.

Elsa smiles back at her but says nothing. Instead, she takes a sip off of her red cup and looks at the buildings towering above them. The comfort in their silence shouldn't be normal, Anna thinks. They are two strangers, for Christ's sake. She bites the inside of her cheek, rummaging through her brain for something to say. Elsa may appear oddly comfortable just standing there but Anna's skin is prickling with anticipation.

"Are you hiding from someone?" Is all she can come up with.

Looking back at her, the blonde smirks slowly, unexpectedly. "Do I look like I'm hiding from someone?" Her tone hides a meaning Anna can't quite decipher. Does she? No she doesn't, Anna figures, but that leaves her inner question unanswered.

"Not really." She blurts out. Elsa tilts her head and her blue eyes focus into Anna's with such an intensity that Anna isn't sure if the blonde wants to slap her or kiss her. Her heart flutters inside her chest, while her cheeks grow warm under Elsa's curious gaze. In a beat, their inquiring depth is gone and replaced by gentleness. _So much for a casual conversation_. The girl keeps looking at Anna like she is trying to read her freaking mind.

Elsa finally looks away and sighs deeply. "I'm just trying to step away for a bit. Socializing isn't really my forte."

"But you're socializing right now..." If locking eyes intensely with a stranger can be considered a form of socializing, though Anna keeps that one to herself. "But I think I know what you mean," she adds, "although I tend to socialize _too much,_ so I guess I'm the opposite of you. I just kinda let my mouth speak for itself and—yeah." She takes the last gulp of her lukewarm beer and regrets it almost as much as her blabbering.

Amusement glints in Elsa's eyes.

"It's a different kind of socializing," Elsa argues, only acknowledging Anna's first statement as if to spare her dignity. "Besides, I don't know anyone here except for my cousin." As if to demonstrate she points with her chin at the space behind Anna. Turning around, she finds a short haired brunette in the corner, giggling at whatever Eugene is whispering in her ear. So Elsa doesn't want to be the third wheel and she doesn't know anyone else in here. It makes some sense now, that she has approached Anna, even if the redhead feels a pang of disappointment at the thought. The closest thing to an acquaintance Elsa has in here is the girl she made some heavy eye contact with back on the stairs.

Accepting her own conclusion, Anna nods. She then remembers Elsa's first statement. "What kind of socializing is this then?"

Elsa shrugs, takes another sip of her drink and leans her hip closer to the wall. It seems as if she is looking for her answer inside the buildings across the street from them. She remains quiet for a few seconds, the beat of the music and the chatter of strangers distancing themselves as Anna's entire being focuses on the girl before her. There is a touch of grace even to the way Elsa leans against the wall, with her legs crossed, her head held high. Anna takes a step closer before she can think twice about it.

Again, Elsa looks candidly at her. "It's just you and me," she states. "It's refreshing when I don't have to pretend to be a social butterfly around so many people."

The sincerity behind Elsa's words throws her off. The _you and me_ in that sentence feels almost intimate, stripped of pretentiousness or the need to impress. That this girl can storm into Anna's life in an instant and make her knees quiver if she so desired, with all her regal air and glowing eyes and secretive smile, makes Anna feel vulnerable in a way that she hasn't felt before around another person so quickly. And that Elsa has the nerve to just stand there searching for an honest conversation, admitting to not having to pretend around her, while Anna has already walked by at least six people well on their way to having a groping session in a dark corner, makes Anna feel, well... special.

"If you like socializing, then how come you're over here by yourself?"

It is a fair question. "I'm feeling... contemplative tonight, I guess."

Elsa seems unsatisfied with the vagueness of her answer but doesn't push the subject. Instead, she provides another question: "What do you do, Anna?"

Anna tries to ignore the way her name comes out of Elsa's lips, so clear and sultry, like she is reaching out and caressing her with her voice. She also notices that Elsa doesn't push for a clarification on her last answer.

"I write." At the quirk of a shapely eyebrow she rushes to elaborate. "Well, I'm on the creative writing program at NYU, so technically I _try_ to write most of the time. Either something comes out, decent or shitty, or I'm just left staring into space." She's forgotten about her finished beer and the attempt at another sip comes out embarrassingly futile.

Elsa chuckles. "New York abounds with writers... the ones I've met either write to forget or to remember." They are now standing a couple of feet away from each other, and despite the fact that Anna wants to blame it on the noise of everybody else's conversations around them, she knows that is not the case. There is a pull between the two that suggests a glorious inevitability Anna is too weak to fight. "Why do _you_ write?"

Such an inquiry makes Anna hesitate. She knows the answer to that but isn't sure if it is something she wishes to delve into tonight. Elsa's interest is disarming, however, as well the alcohol in her veins, so Anna decides to pick at pieces of her own truth. "None of the above," she smiles softly, "I started writing when I was younger because, well, I rather wanted to avoid. I didn't have a shitty past that I wanted to forget and no memories have ever been significant enough that I've wanted to live reminiscing. But let's just say that writing felt like an escape of what I had going on at home."

A somber expression overcomes Elsa's face and Anna realizes just how that had sounded. She rushes to explain, "Oh no, no, it's nothing like that!" Unsure of how much honesty she can bear tonight causes her to bite her lip. "Mostly it was neglect. I was a lonely kid and my parents didn't seem to mind enough to change the situation." And what a story that was. That she had come to the point where her only friends were the paintings she'd found during her visits to the museum, the fictional characters in the books she'd read, or the white oak that inhabited their backyard. Anna's childhood was spent searching for her parents' affection behind an invisible shut door; no matter how much she tried to make them come out and make her feel _loved_ , it never seemed to work.

Elsa's eyebrows draw together momentarily but no pity comes out of her lips. The gratitude Anna feels at that surprises her.

"Of all the vices that could have come from that you may have chosen the best one then." Elsa reassures her instead.

Anna chuckles at the irony of the statement, silently thanking the blonde's attempt to alleviate her somber mood. The smile captured by Elsa's lips is tender, bare of any fake sympathy but rather exposing an understanding that Anna finds heartfelt.

It is still such a wonder that in a matter of moments a connection has developed and sunk so deeply into Anna's heart. For a moment, she dwells in the particularity of such a mise-en-scène: her best friend's insistence at meeting a stranger Anna was reluctant to entertain only for her to stumble upon another one. A stranger sculpted out of smooth marble, with the ethereal composure of a queen, blue eyes capable of stopping time and a smile pertaining to a mystery Anna is all too willing to discover. It is then that Anna finds herself carefully entertaining the idea that this can't be the first and only time she ever sees Elsa. Because this familiarity feels too promising and the thought of it turning into a simple, flickering memory that Anna will look back on from time to time as she moves on with her life just doesn't sit well with her.

"Maybe next time you can show me your work." Ah, there it is, the invitation. The universe is beginning its retribution at last.

Anna's smile could have sufficed as an answer. "I would love to." And just like that, the gloominess that clouds Anna lifts.

"You see those two over there?" Elsa nods at her cousin and Eugene, both with their backs to the rest of the party, arms touching and heads leaning in close to each other. "They're going to sleep together."

Laughter escapes her lips before she can stop it. Elsa's statement is too bold not to believe it. "That is why you came over here?" Anna finally asks, although it is barely a question.

"That is part of why I came over here, yes."

Swooning. That is what Anna feels for the first time in forever, even though Elsa seems to lose control of her collected self for a second before the moment is gone. _She is nervous,_ Anna thinks with satisfaction. Knowing that she isn't the only one hesitatingly waltzing through this interaction, Anna offers her an easy exit, "Thank God for small favors, then."

Elsa giggles, relieved. For a moment, they are silent; time expands slightly, taking its deep breath. Anna wonders how long they have spent being encapsulated in this space where nothing else seems to matter but the presence of each other.

"Why are you hoarding skittles in your pocket?"

"Oh," Her hand goes up to pat at her breast and feels the bulge Elsa is referring to. She'd forgotten all about it. "I bought it at the bodega when I went to use the restroom—" _When I saw you for the first time,_ Anna wants to add. "I crave sweets when I drink and the Skittles are a lame attempt at substituting the chocolate cake I actually wanted."

Elsa smiles her gentle smile again and Anna comes to find it her favorite. "I know a place that sells this really good chocolate cake..."

Anna's wheels turn slowly as she processes the last of Elsa's sentence. Is this an invitation?Elsa is looking slightly down at her, their bodies so close now that she wouldn't have to take another step before reaching out and grabbing Anna's hand to lead her out of the party. They stand there perfectly still. It feels possible that this memory could be frozen in time, with the summer breeze blowing against Anna's skin, the warmth of Elsa's gaze washing over her.

"Would you like to go?" _Go where, exactly?_ Anna asks herself. _Go there, go home, go anywhere with you._

"That sounds like a plan." Elsa murmurs.

* * *

They make a quiet exit as soon as Anna finds Kristoff and smacks Shang, both of whom are well on their way to making fools of themselves at the beer pong tourney. She quickly, and awkwardly, introduces Elsa to the two of them mostly because there is no other way around it. Anna flushes as pink as a prom carnation when both of her friends pretend to be casual about the fact that Anna is leaving with a girl, but suppresses a smile when Kristoff nods at her in approval behind Elsa's back after the blonde has delivered her birthday wishes. The air that hits her five floors down is crisp and that is when Anna recognizes she might be just a little drunk. Elsa chaperones her to the bodega's bathroom this time around.

They share Anna's Skittles as they stroll the night away, with Elsa eating the orange ones that Anna finds quite disgusting and Anna eventually dropping half of the pack when she can't catch them midair with her mouth. Their arms brush from time to time, even though Anna talks with her hands when she gets excited while Elsa keeps her forearms gently crossed over her body. As they cross from west to east of the island, she learns that Elsa is attending Columbia's medical program and that she is three years older than her. She also discovers that Elsa is the most attentive and composed person she's ever met, and relishes in the fact that Elsa laughs at her jokes, covering her mouth each time in such a reserved manner that it falls as a wonderful contrast with the confidence she exudes each time she says Anna's name.

 _So much for not wanting to spend the night chatting with a stranger,_ Anna tells herself ironically. She wasted so much energy telling herself and her friends that she was just not interested in meeting anyone, only to find herself walking side by side with a girl she was ready to share every bit of her life story with.

The streets narrow down as they enter the East Village, a neighborhood that swarms once more with people coming in and out of the hot spots, engulfing both girls in the night life of the city. Elsa reassures Anna that the café is on the next block after they pass through a rowdy group of young men, and Anna tries not to show just how much it affects her body that Elsa is whispering this in her ear while she takes a protective stance between her and the men, a gentle hand pressing against her lower back. She cannot, however, hide the disappointment when she hears Elsa curse under her breath after they stop in front of a café that is just shutting off its front lights for the night. Elsa takes the few steps down to look at the hours plastered on the door before she checks her watch: "Ten twenty-two," she mutters. Anna feels just as bad when she finds in Elsa's eyes a mixture of apologies and disappointment staring back at her.

"I'm so sorry," Elsa says and damn, does Anna feel it. Something tells her that the apology entails more than just the absence of cake; their night just became a hell of a lot shorter.

Anna registers the way Elsa's hips sway gently as she climbs the three steps that divide them. A sudden rush of déjà vu overcomes her and it takes Anna every ounce of self-control she has to avoid reaching out for Elsa's hand to pull her closer this time. "Let me walk you to the train station, at least." Elsa suggests, the trace of disappointment still present in her voice.

Unsure of how to voice the protest that surges at the blonde's resignation, Anna nods instead.

The first few steps they take away from the café are accompanied by silence. Anna knows from what Elsa has told her that she lives close by, and while that piece of information is rather tempting, neither gives away the suggestion.

"Maybe next time I can share my work with you over a slice of chocolate cake." She knows she sounds stupidly confident that there will be a next time, but she reminds herself that Elsa has extended the invitation first.

Elsa smiles at her. The gleam in her eyes is enough of a promise. When she looks away a long sigh escapes her lips, "I was really hoping to spend—" she clears her throat, "I was hoping that place would be open, I was really craving some cake"

Anna hums in agreement. _Who is Elsa kidding?_ She thinks at the almost slipped confession. This far into the night, Anna knows this is no normal interaction between two strangers meant to be friends, even if her experience is downright nonexistent. There are too many caught breaths, too many seconds passed in comfortable silence and shared glances. She can see a longing in Elsa's bright blue eyes that is less controlled than the blonde would probably wish to admit, and Anna knows this because this same longing is madly sprouting out of her own gaze without second thoughts anymore. However, she knows this is gravitating towards something that feels too much, too soon. She's seen enough movies and read enough books to know how this night can end; the two of them naked, wrapped around each other beneath ruffled sheets and bathed in the moonlight that seeps through Anna's window each night. But somehow, this is not what Anna wants. She wants no night stand, even if they do agree to see each other again, and she wants no grand gestures of romance either. She wants simple. As simple as Kristoff's party on an abandoned building and as simple as an invitation to share a slice of chocolate cake.

Even if simple means having to accept that the night is coming to an end.

"It's okay," Anna voices it, and finds that she means it. "Those beers are starting to make me feel sleepy anyways."

Elsa playfully bumps her upper arm against Anna's shoulder. "Make sure you don't fall asleep on the train... you're what, three, four stops away?"

They near the lit up entrance to the underground station of 3rd Avenue, slowing their pace until they are hovering over their imminent separation. "It's four, and don't worry I fall asleep on the train every morning, so I've trained my body to stay half awake. It's like sleeping with one eye open, only, you know, not literally or anything, that would be weird..." Anna trails off, embarrassed. Although when it makes Elsa laugh so suddenly that she can't cover it with her hand, she finds it worth it.

"You are quite something." Elsa whispers before taking a step forward and reaching for Anna's hand. The gesture is so simple, yet so grandiose in that moment, that Anna sucks in a breath through her slightly parted lips in surprise. Her hand is cold to the touch but the comfort it brings Anna feels warmer than the sun on a summer day. Elsa squeezes her hand softly and smiles once more. "Will you text me when you get home?"

"I don't have your phone number, though."

"I gave it to you on our way to the café..." Elsa looks at her in a way that makes her wonder just how much those beers have actually hit her. She stares into space with her mouth parted open until she recalls the precise moment Elsa is referring to.

"Right! I'm sorry, I should probably go to sleep if I can't remember what happened thirty minutes ago." She admits sheepily. But her hand is still being held by Elsa's and she is starting to find it rather impossible to say goodbye at all. The only thing that goes through Anna's mind is a simple sentence: _Ask me._

"I'll let you go then..."

For a few moments neither of them makes a move to leave— _Ask me_ —. The thumb of Elsa's right hand is faintly caressing the back of Anna's left while a raucous band of kids storms out of the station. They both take a step to the side, momentarily grateful to extend their time together for a few more seconds as they watch the group stride away. Elsa's bangs fall to cover her eyes and Anna thinks little before reaching out with her free hand to tuck them aside. Blue eyes widen in surprise and it is Anna's turn to smile fondly. "Tonight was good," she whispers, squeezing Elsa's hand before letting it go— _Ask me_ —. She has to force her legs to take a few steps backwards, even as Elsa waves goodbye and the gesture tugs at Anna's heart.

_Ask me and I will stay._

She makes a turn for the stairs that will lead her home.

* * *

Her phone beeps on her nightstand while Anna is brushing her teeth. She half-asses the task, however, because she's too busy contemplating every little aspect of her interaction with Elsa. How cliché is it that Anna has become infatuated with a pair of blue eyes? She finishes gargling water before she half-asses the task of washing her face as well, fearing all that beer won't be enough to knock her out tonight. Icy, blue eyes in Anna's opinion, so alluring and so mysterious at the same time; Anna swears she has never seen eyes so crystal blue, so _cold_ but also so warm...

Padding into the moonlit room towards her nightstand she finds two unopened texts. One is from Kristoff: a drunken invitation to have breakfast the next morning. And the other one, no less expected but nonetheless causing Anna's heart to take a little leap in her chest, from Elsa: _Glad you got home okay. Hopefully we can meet again soon, x._

 _You fucking bet._ Anna grins as she plops herself on her empty bed. The beers, turns out, are enough to knock Anna out within minutes.


	2. I have named you queen

Elsa wakes up to a start that day; cold sweat running down her spine; a quick heartbeat pounding at her chest. It has been one of those nights again, marred with dreams of drowning and sorrow. The voices of her parents echo through her mind, and if she closes her eyes she can faintly recall the tenderness in her mother's touch and feel the reassurance in her father's last hug right before they both disappear deep into the realm where all dreams are gone and forgotten. Once again, she tries not to cry. The clock by her bed says 6:17 while Elsa works on evening out her breaths and attempts to ride out the negative feelings that sprout out of nightmares like this. She knows what remains of the early morning will be restless so she turns on the lamp by her bedside, somehow relieved that dawn is starting to cast away the shadows of the night.

She does her best to push as far away as she can the thought of her parents, but decides that it is impossible to do so if she remains staring at the ceiling. Outside her window she can hear a truck unloading its produce for the day, and farther away, the usual, faint sound of a siren followed by the obnoxious barking of Mrs. Hemingway's dachshund, unmistakably hers due to the fact that she is the only one in the neighborhood who wakes up at the crack of dawn just to walk the dog; like a modern rooster call.

Elsa sighs. 

In a few moments, her naked feet lead her out of her room towards the compact kitchen she shares with her cousin, who will more than likely wake up until she is satisfied that she's snoozed her alarm fifteen times. Water is set for boiling before Elsa loses herself in her mind again.

She is willing enough to let her thoughts wander to something more positive until she inevitably falls on the memory of Anna. That lively girl whom Elsa had met a week ago and stubbornly refused every day to leave her mind. Anna, who, the day before, had randomly texted her a picture of a bag of Skittles telling Elsa that she would save the orange ones for her. Anna with her giggles, her honest eyes and lovely smile. Elsa had felt undeniably drawn the moment she'd laid eyes on Anna that night, even if approaching her was perhaps the most courageous thing she had done in a while. Because frankly, shutting herself off since the death of her parents hadn't only been applied to practically the rest of her family, but also to the little friends she'd had, and certainly to everyone else who wished to be around her. She shut herself off because staying willingly alone was easier to control than the loneliness that struck her heart the moment her parents were gone. Gone in the physical sense that ended up mattering the most, because memories eventually fade, while you begin to find it harder to recall the warmth of your mother or the laughter of your father, until you can no longer remember their essence and you find that it is time to let them go or let yourself go. 

And there it is again: the sorrow she is trying to avoid. She clenches her eyes shut and grips the edge of the counter a little tighter. It is too early in the morning to have a breakdown, she thinks sardonically. _Anna, think of Anna._ Elsa has only met her once but she is already sensitive of the little leap her heart takes at the thought of her. She is unsure of what could or s _hould_ happen with Anna, only hopeful that what she felt that night could possibly be corresponded, but above any possibilities, Elsa knows she must see her again. 

A loud, clattery sound makes Elsa jump out of her stupor before she clenches the fabric over her chest. "Shit!" 

"Sorry!" Rapunzel is kneeling down to pick up the brush that she's dropped with no consideration for Elsa's delicate heart. She reappears, seconds later, behind the counter that divides the kitchen and the entrance corridor that leads to Rapunzel's messy room with an apologetic grimace on her face. "Sorry," she repeats softer, "I thought you heard me when I came out of my room." 

Elsa huffs out a laugh, her heart still pounding in her ears. "Clearly, I didn't." 

"Oops." Rapunzel says, less sorry now. "You got enough water for two?" She is still wearing her pajamas but Elsa finds it rather odd that she is awake at all.

"I think it should be enough. Why are you up so early, though? Should I celebrate such a rare occasion?" The water is ready and Elsa grabs two mugs out of the wall cabinet before her. She is thankful for her cousin's company this morning.

"Ha-ha." She mocks. "I switched shifts today because I'm going out with Eugene tonight." Elsa smiles at that. He is the sole reason why she was there the night she met Anna. An invitation to his friend's birthday party and an angsty cousin who didn't want to go alone led her straight to the most beautiful girl she's ever met.

"You're getting kinda serious with Eugene, aren't you?"

Rapunzel flips her hand in nonchalance as she pads over to open the fridge. "I like that he's scruffy... plus he's funny and quite handsome." Mulling over her own words, she adds: "But I would rather not get into anything too soon, you know?" She's now speaking to Elsa's back while the blonde pours their coffees and opts for adding some bread to the toaster. Out of the two, Elsa has always been the motherly type; the one who makes sure Rapunzel eats something after waking up and before drinking. 

"You _did_ almost sleep with him that night..." Elsa points out.

"Well yes, but _almost_ is the key word right there, sister." 

Elsa chuckles and hands Rapunzel her mug. They prepare their coffees in silence. Elsa only pours cream while her cousin adds a diabetic amount of sugar to her own. 

"What about Anna?" 

The question halts every move of Elsa's before she lets her spoon clank against her mug. She can feel her face grow warm under Rapunzel's inquiring gaze, making eye contact impossible. Elsa recognizes the simplicity of the question and her inability to reply with the same nonchalance as her cousin is unnerving. There was nothing about Elsa's interaction with Anna that night that needed to be discussed, no confession that needed to be analyzed, no kiss that needed to be retold. There had only been a holding of hands, however, that had felt so particularly electrifying to Elsa that she found the need to keep it as a precious, secret moment between Anna and her. But all of that had been spoken of a week ago. Elsa knows the question is rather aimed at the near future.

She clears her throat and goes to retrieve their toast. "We haven't texted much since that night so I don't know when I'll see her again." 

"What's with the cold feet!?" Rapunzel is suddenly exasperated. "Either you plan something soon or I text her myself." It is rather anticlimactic, the way she bosses Elsa around to text a girl before she gently thanks her for the toast.

"I'll text her today. Maybe I'll ask her to meet up some time this week." 

She will, but she won't. She ends up texting Anna while Rapunzel quickly rinses the dishes. She's made up her mind, really, so she has no need for a plan other than finding out if Anna will be at work today. The giddiness she retains from the thought of seeing Anna is foreign albeit welcomed, and Elsa doesn't mind that Rapunzel has started to laugh at the telltale smile that's appeared on her face. 

They separate for the morning, because Elsa still has to get ready to head over to Queens for a couple of hours before she can head back to Manhattan to finally buy that chocolate cake she and Anna were left craving for a whole week.

* * *

Elsa fidgets all the way from Castle Senior Center to that café that disappointingly closes at 10 pm on a Sunday night. She gives up on reading anything more substantial than the MTA ads promoting online dating and food delivery halfway through the trip back, because she's suddenly realized just how reckless her idea of showing up at Anna's work really is. Elsa has no contingency plan, however, and the thought of asking Anna to a date through text makes her cringe even more. She feels so awkward, so out of place, buying a chocolate cake that she plans on sharing with a girl she's met only once, while she has no clue as to when or _if_ Anna will be at the bookstore when she arrives (such a vague question, asking her if she would be at work today and not _when)._ The fact that she wants to make this a surprise, which keeps her from getting more information out of Anna without her getting suspicious, doesn't help. She wants to slap herself. Elsa is a woman of plans and still, she has not followed a single plan with Anna. Meeting her was a thing of fate, introducing herself was a thing of improvised bravery, while leaving the party with her was a result of absolute, divine spontaneity. The Skittles, the walk to the café, the holding of Anna's hand. All of that had been unforeseen and so marvelous, but now Elsa has no idea how to proceed. Whatever experience she could have built during the beginning of her twenties was tainted with grief. Now here in New York, at the peak of her youth, she finds herself so outrageously uptight that even a med student would be impressed. 

She considers not showing up but the thought is fleeting. When she arrives home to get ready, her watch tells her it is almost 2 pm, so she decides to stall for a while. Anna's text only indicates that she will be there during the afternoon allowing Elsa to opt for going later rather than earlier, just to be on the safe side. 

After placing the box with the chocolate cake on the counter she heads to her room so she can figure out what to wear. She thinks it amusing that she should spend time contemplating her options when her style has never gone beyond what most people consider casual. But somehow she still finds herself staring at her closet, wondering if Anna is easily impressed by somebody else's style. Living in the city can go either way, she figures; either you become neutral to any sense of fashion or you become a fashion fanatic. Regardless, Elsa racks her brain long enough to hurt before she chooses a powdery blue summer dress that hugs around her waist and falls freely down her thighs. If anything, she should be cool as a cucumber in this weather. 

Despite her efforts, Elsa struggles to keep her excitement in check. Even as she showers and later on braids her hair, she fails to control the sporadic smile that keeps appearing on her face. The last time Elsa had felt this much giddiness she had been nineteen. Nineteen and head over heels for someone who couldn't bear the distance Elsa drew at the age of twenty one.

When Elsa is ready to leave she doesn't text Anna. How much of a surprise this will be for the redhead is up for debate but Elsa hopes that the chocolate cake she holds in her hand will be as good of a delight for Anna as seeing her again will be for Elsa.The train ride is painless and quick, and once she arrives at Union Square's station her nerves blur with the cacophony that surrounds her. In a corner of the mezzanine, a clandestine band plays the drums with empty buckets placed upside down between their legs; they are ignored by all but the few tourists recording them. Their sound echoes along with the screeching of trains arriving and departing, and somewhere, in the distance, a female voice sings a melody. Dozens of strangers stride past Elsa, causing her to hold the white box a little closer to her chest as she tries to remember the difference between the Southeast and Southwest exits. Whatever the difference, Elsa ends up exiting on the corner of the park that is closest to Broadway. The humidity of New York's summer bears down mercilessly on everyone around her while Elsa silently curses at the small beads of sweat beginning to appear on the edge where her forehead meets her hair. It doesn't help that her nerves are returning, and that she has to dodge every second person she runs into because they are either too distracted or too determined not to move as they meander on. 

A couple of blocks down and Elsa finally arrives at the bookstore. She sees a flash of her reflection on the glass door as she enters. Her blonde hair has miraculously stayed put and, admittedly, her dress really does accentuate the delicate curves of her body. 

Four floors worth of miles of books: Elsa knows she should be delighted but in reality she is fucking ecstatic. Her body is buzzing with an anticipation she can no longer control while she staggers by a stack of staff-picked books near the entrance. She's not sure if she should look for Anna, or _act_ like she is looking for a book while looking for Anna. She decides on none; she is too dazed to think. Her feet let her wander, however, as she takes even breaths and calms down the childish flutter of her heart. The covers of dozens of books serve as a welcomed distraction so Elsa takes her time. There is Atwood, Gladwell and Nhat Hanh, Stephen King's brand new creep show, and a staff member's note stating he was too scared to use public restrooms for a week. She eyes the pins, the postcards, and subtly looks around for copper hair. Elsa doesn't find her so she keeps on wandering until she is lost in the Poetry section. 

Never really into poetry for lack of better knowledge, Elsa picks at random. A miniature spine between two ginormous books gets her attention, the soft pink of its cover leading her to expect a rather cheesy anthology of love poems. She balances the little book in her left hand and begins skipping through the pages. 

_When I cannot look at your face I look at your feet_ —Elsa raises an eyebrow. 

The fuck...

She keeps on reading. 

_Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet_ —is this a foot fetish thing?

_Your waist and your breasts, the doubled purple of your nipples..._ Wow. Okay. Elsa begins to blush. A picture is being constructed in her head and atop the fantasized body there is a certain face she can't help but begin to recognize— 

"Elsa?" 

She drops the book in a startle. It is the second time that day that Elsa questions the stability of her heart but she finds it impossible to be irritated when it is Anna who is standing right in front of her. 

"Hi!" Elsa squeaks before crouching down to pick up the book off the floor. She feels like the epitome of mortification.

"Sorry," Anna whispers an apology weakened by her surprise. 

"That's okay..." Elsa affirms lamely. As soon as she straightens back up she forces herself to look directly at Anna for the first time. The girl is wearing an emerald green shirt beneath denim overalls, her hair is up in a messy bun, and she is looking at Elsa with a delightful mixture of surprise and curiosity that makes the blonde's embarrassment worth almost all of it. 

"Oh!" 

Before Elsa has the time to process it, Anna is already stepping closer to wrap her arms around her neck. The movement is so sudden she barely has the time to move the white box from between them before Anna's warm body flushed against her own elicits a small gasp of delight that she can't suppress in time. Anna smells like flowers and feels like a tiny piece of heaven in her arms. 

When Anna takes a step back she allows her hands to stay on her shoulders while Elsa's hand, preoccupied still with the book, hovers above her waist. In a matter of seconds, the nervousness that has been plaguing her for half a day is replaced by a comfort that can't be faked. 

"Hi." Anna finally says. 

"Hi." 

The moment Anna removes her hands completely, Elsa misses them. Under the bright lights of the bookstore Elsa realizes that she has missed the freckles that adorn the girl's face the day she met her. As if sprinkled by a painter, they cover her cheeks and her nose like a starry night. She also seems to have missed the fact that Anna's eyes aren't just blue, but a shade that reminisces teal; the feathery lashes that frame them fluttering back and forth as she takes in Elsa's very own features. 

She craves to kiss her right then and there.

"You're blushing," Anna points out. _Is she?_ The redhead glances at the pink object Elsa is still holding before she smirks. "Where you reading a sexy poem, Elsa?" 

She wants to throw the offending little book as far away as she possibly can. The thought of nipples flashes once again through Elsa's mind but this time she has enough self control to quickly shove it aside. "Yeah... I—I picked it up at random, I wasn't sure what to expect." She shows it to Anna and gladly lets her take it from her extended hand. 

"Neruda." Anna mutters, as if it were self-explanatory. She chuckles. "What were you reading that got you so flustered?"

This is about a million light-years away from where Elsa was expecting this reencounter to go. She stares at Anna, silently pleading for a quick exit, but the naive expectancy in the girl's eyes leaves no room for a made up answer. 

"He started the poem with feet..." She trails off, tentatively, hoping that is enough of an explanation. It isn't, of course. "Then he started talking about other parts of the body and, uh, nipples." 

Anna has the nerve to giggle. If Elsa weren't so caught up in her own mortification she would have smiled at the sight. "What are you, Elsa? Twelve?" She giggles even more. They both have to step aside in the small corridor for an older lady that spares a dubious glance their way. Anna sobers up slightly by biting her lip. Elsa's eyes don't miss the action.

"It was unexpected!" She hushes instead, "how do you go from feet to nipples in the span of three stanzas?" 

"The same way you'd trail slowly from the feet, across the legs, through the waist and to the breasts..." Anna explains it so nonchalantly that Elsa isn't sure how to react. She chooses not to take it as a suggestion, but rather as a logical explanation to Neruda's odd choice of words. A thought presents itself to Elsa and she regains her composure with a smirk.

"Is that how you suggest books to your customers? With sexual innuendos?" 

It is Elsa's turn to giggle at Anna's little gasp of indignation. "I was not insinuating anything!" Although the blush that tints her cheeks are a telltale of something different. What a joy to switch roles.

At that, a tall, lanky man in glasses approaches Anna and asks her where he can find the theater section before she redirects him to a few rows closer to the back of the store. They fall into a comfortable silence while Anna makes herself busy searching for the empty spot where Neruda's book of poems belongs. Elsa enjoys watching her: the way she tucks behind her ear the loose strands of hair that fall in front of her eyes, or the way she hums contentedly while she rearranges the books. It suddenly strikes Elsa that she could get used to this tender feeling that sprouts from her heart. 

"I brought you something." Her voice comes out softer than she intends, but Anna seems to hear her because she straightens up and looks at her with curiosity again. She glances at the white box in Elsa's hand.

"Did you?" 

She holds out the box until Anna is close enough to free her right hand. The slice of cake inside is, surprisingly, still intact, although the lid is lightly smeared with chocolate icing. Based on how much Elsa manhandled the poor box she is happy it doesn't look like a disastrous excuse of a cake. But even if it did, something tells her that at first sight, Anna's eyes would still light up like Christmas in a good, ole American town.

"Is this—"

"The chocolate cake we were supposed to get the other night? You bet." Elsa is grinning like a fool and Anna is skipping on the balls of her feet. Their bubble of excitement appears as a dichotomy to the sobriety of the bookstore. 

"Oh, I'm excited!" She half whispers. "Is this why you asked me if I was gonna be at work today?"

What's the point of lying. "Yes." Elsa admits. "How much longer do you have until you're done with your shift?"

Anna checks her phone and huffs. "Thirty minutes." She closes the box and hands it back to Elsa. "Will you wait for me until I'm done?"

"Of course." 

Elsa figures thirty minutes are nothing compared to the whole week she's waited to see Anna again, so she reassures her that she doesn't mind looking around while Anna is finishing up. Books have been delightful companions for the past few years, though Elsa isn't willing yet to admit the reason out loud.

The remaining half hour goes by in the blink of an eye, yet somehow, she manages to end up torn between choosing one out of two books. Anna finds her again closer to the entrance, although this time instead of startling her she places a soft hand on her arm. The familiarity of the touch comforts Elsa, drawing a smile from her.

"Hey you. Ready to go?"

Anna hums in agreement. Then asks: "Are you taking those?" 

Elsa is holding two titles in her hand, one is Brontë's Jane Eyre and the other is Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None. "I have to choose one," she says. 

"Why not both?"

"Because I can't be aggressively feeding my compulsion of buying books I want to read, while I have books at home that I'm still supposed to read but won't."

It is a girl standing behind them in the line for check out who beats Anna to the punch: "Girl, if that ain't the truth for all of us here."

They all laugh. Anna considers them for a few seconds before she takes Jane Eyre from her hand and places it on the counter by a register, leaving it to someone else to be put away. Then she pulls out of her tote bag the thin, pink book that Elsa had wanted to chuck earlier. She gives it to the blonde and smiles shyly. "Give him another chance, I think you'll like him once you get past the feet."

The freckles on Anna's cheeks hide beneath a soft blush, but the redhead says nothing more. She convinces the man at the register to use her employee discount to buy Elsa's book—Neruda's one posing rather as a present—, before the two walk out of the store.

* * *

Union Square ends up being their destination. Just like the underground, the park is buzzing with life: the Hare Krishna is chanting unintelligible words near one of the entrances to the subway station; a group of skateboarders rushes dangerously close to the girls; a hoard of Asian tourists gather around a tour guide like a flock of pigeons, and Elsa finds herself fidgeting with her hands while Anna looks for a bench they can share. The sun is no longer glaring down on that side of the world and she is grateful that her forehead isn't shiny with sweat anymore. When they finally do find a place to sit, Elsa tucks the loose fabric of her dress beneath her thighs and passes over to the redhead the plastic fork she's wrapped with a napkin. It feels like an impromptu picnic with limited supplies but Anna looks just as ecstatic as before about the promise of chocolate cake, so Elsa tries to brush her unwanted self-consciousness aside. 

It ends up all being worth it when Anna moans and savors her first bite with a pleasure Elsa wishes she could be the source of. "A little piece of heaven." Anna mumbles. 

They ease into a conversation that is frequently paused by mouthfuls of chocolate cake, until there is nothing left of it but the smeared icing on the lid and the crumbs that Anna has to shake off of her lap.

"That cake is now definitely on my top three desserts."

Elsa smirks triumphantly, "I told you."

Anna rearranges herself so that they can be closer to each other, even though her feet propped up on the bench serve as a barrier between them. It doesn't stop Anna, however, from craning her neck so that she can look more deeply into Elsa's eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

Does she even have another option? "Sure."

"Do you like girls?" 

There might not be a mirror facing her, but Elsa knows she must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights. It is not the question itself, but the bluntness that shocks Elsa for a long enough moment that Anna begins to rush out an apology that is cut off short by Elsa's reply. "It's okay... I'm sorry, you just caught me off guard."

"You're right, that was a dumb question, I'm sorry. I don't even know why I blurt stuff out sometimes, I was just being curious and, you know, you're very pretty—too pretty—, but then it'd be rude to assume that just because you're pretty you can't be single or like girls right? I'm just gonna stop talking now." Anna clams her own mouth shut; her cheeks are crimson red. At this point Elsa has gone from stunned, to flattered, to amused. She can't help the laugh that falls from her lips even as her hand automatically goes up to cover it.

Having kept herself from being too close with most people in her life—her cousin being the greatest exception—, Elsa is unaccustomed to the sincerity that is slowly making its way to the forefront of her decisions and answers when it comes to Anna. It is both refreshing and unnerving that the redhead, with her own genuineness reflecting off her beamy eyes, could inspire it so easily out of Elsa. But there she is anyways, punishing Anna with a pregnant pause she is bound to break with the truth: "I do." 

She is unsure if it is relief she finds in Anna's expression, and whether that relief is directed at finally having an answer to her unfiltered question or at the answer itself. Should she mirror the inquiry, too? 

"Do you?" It tastes almost comical, the pursuit of knowing each other's sexuality as if it were a semi-casual job interview. But Anna appears to be more ready than Elsa had been, because she replies almost instantly with a nod that Elsa doesn't know how to follow. Regardless, she suppresses the grin on her face, the chant of victory in her brain and the joyous leap of her heart. _There is a chance with her._

"I used to really like this boy in elementary school, though." Anna adds, oblivious to Elsa's giddinness. "I even had a diary dedicated to him for Christ's sake. He was much taller than me, blondish, his hair used to sort of fall across his forehead and cover one of his eyes sometimes... I found it so charming." She chuckles, briefly losing herself in the memory. "Anyways, middle school came, and it's as if this craziness I'd felt about one or two boys were all taken to the next level, with older girls and even ladies like my P.E. teacher. At first I thought it was just admiration, you know? I'd fend it off as, well, that girl is badass; I want to belike her... turns out I wanted to be on topof her." Anna's joke is flattened by her own sobriety. As soon as she pauses she looks back at Elsa, who silently encourages her to go on.

"I never had the problem of accepting it, I guess, it just sort of happened and I figured, okay, it is what it is. Nothing ever happened with another girl until I was almost done with high school. But I never told my parents, because I didn't find it worth it to share something so substantial with them when I couldn't even get home from school and tell them about the score I'd gotten that day on my test." 

"They didn't care, so why should you? Was that it?" Elsa chimes in.

Anna shrugs, although the gesture carries a tone of melancholy with it. "I guess? It's not something I thought about much until after I left for college. I love my parents, but... I think because they didn't really show that they cared about what I did or didn't do, I didn't carry the burden of being someone I wasn't." 

Elsa aches to reach out for Anna's hand but there is an air of reluctant resignation in her composure that makes a gesture of sympathy seem misplaced and almost unwanted. So Elsa chooses to let her breathe it out, falling into a momentary silence that is broken only by the chirping of birds and the distant cymbals of the Hare Krishna. 

"Do your parents know you like girls?"

Elsa should have known this question was coming. "My parents passed away three years ago. They didn't—I didn't get the chance to tell them."

Anna's face turns into a somber expression. "I'm sorry... maybe I shouldn't have asked that. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

She offers her a gentle smile. "That's okay. You didn't know..." Elsa doesn't berate herself for not having been open about this before. It is, after all, the second time they meet; there is so much they still don't know about each other. "I don't talk a lot about my parents unless someone asks, and even then I try to talk about the good things only."

Anna tilts her head. "What is a good thing you remember about them?"

Elsa expected that her answer would mark an end to the conversation, but somehow the defense mechanism she's built around the topic of her parents loosens some of its strength around Anna.

"I think winter for me was always the most memorable. Dad had less work during the holidays, so the three of us would spend more time together." Elsa is genuinely trying to find a good story for her, but she's spending more time than should be necessary to tell it because, in her mind, she is sorting through the pieces without dwelling too much on an image that will make the ache in her chest return. Memories like this are always so bittersweet. "I'm not sure at what point during my childhood I discovered that Santa wasn't real," Anna chuckles at this. Elsa smiles a little. "But I was young and devastated. So was my cousin, and she bawled for what felt like the entirety of our Christmas dinner."

Anna is engaged in her words, amused perhaps by the scene of her younger cousin crying at the table while their parents cringed. At this point her legs are off the bench, their knees almost touching while her whole body faces Elsa as much as it can in their position.

"Anyways, after my depression left me that same night I set it upon myself to do Santa's work. Partly because my dad used to tell me that if I want something done right I must do it myself, but also because I couldn't get the image of Rapunzel covered in snot and ugly crying out of my head."

"So there I was, wearing a Santa costume that my mom had sewn overnight from a red, old dress she had in the attic—" Elsa's throat tightens slightly. The image of her mother so vivid still in her mind: the day she'd come into her room at six in the morning, bleary eyed but proud of little Elsa's Santa costume. "She even put some padding on the belly," she says this almost to herself, and then, surprisingly, she begins to laugh. "I looked like a stick figure that had swallowed a giant pillow."

They both laugh at the image, relieving some of the weight on Elsa's shoulders.

"Rapunzel was beyond herself with excitement when she woke up and saw me that morning. But the best part for me was that my parents and I teamed up to make a whole experience out of it. Dad had gone out to the thrift shop and bought an elf hat so that he could be Santa's helper, carrying me down the stairs as if I were just arriving from the North Pole. And for my mom he found who knows where, an old lady's wig and round little glasses, so that she could be Mrs. Claus while she baked cookies for all of us."

When Elsa finishes recounting her story she's unsure of where to look or how to act. She feels as though she's ranted nonsense to Anna; the action itself so foreign to her. But Anna is looking at her with something akin to delight and affection, and the burden of recalling the times from when her parents were alive doesn't feel so oppressive anymore. 

"This happened every year until I began high school, obviously with me having to change costumes every other year," she adds as an afterthought. "It became a tradition of sorts."

Anna smiles at her, "I'm sure you could rock a Santa's costume now without looking like a stick digesting a pillow."

Elsa laughs again, not only because Anna lightens up her heart, but because the memory brings a newfound joy that isn't accompanied by grief. Perhaps, she wonders, all she needed was someone who would listen.

"I will only dress as Santa if you dress as the elf," she jokes.

Before she can say anything else she feels a light vibration on her lap, which she neglects until she feels a second one almost right after. Despite wanting to ignore it, Elsa can't help her curiosity. When she checks her phone, however, worry grows in the pit of her stomach. 

_Elsa! Are you busy??_

_HELP!_

Even if she were to consider putting her phone back in her bag, the urgency of the second text obliterates Elsa's option of ignoring the first one. Never one to use her phone in the company of people—let alone Anna at this point—she apologizes quietly before replying to her cousin.

"Everything okay?" Anna asks cautiously.

While she waits for a response, Elsa puts the phone down and looks at the redhead now sitting cross-legged in front of her. "Yes, sorry. Rapunzel just texted me and it sounds like she's got an emergency."

"Oh."

It turns out, Elsa now has to choose between coming up with an excuse to not go back home to open the door for her cousin, who's forgotten her keys and has less than an hour to get ready for her date with Eugene. Or she could tell the truth to the girl frowning with unnecessary worry and cut their afternoon short... again. She reckons she's spent nearly two hours with Anna today, which is not enough time in Elsa's opinion. If it had been anyone else, Elsa may have entertained the idea of not showing up, but the thought of lying like that to her cousin, the closest person in her life, is downright shitty. Besides, she knows Rapunzel would do the same if she were in Elsa's position. Yet, none of this makes it any easier, to look at the girl she's growing fond of by the minute, and tell her she must go.

" _Oh."_ Anna correctly interprets the apologetic look in Elsa's face before she can even muster the courage to say it out loud.

"She forgot her keys at home and she has to get ready for her date with Eugene pretty soon... I'm so sorry, Anna." 

In reality, Elsa is _beyond_ sorry. She laments having to say goodbye to Anna at all, to shorten their time together; to be so enchanted by this girl's lovely face that she's come to hate the thought of marring it with disappointment. But Anna is already standing up and Elsa has no other choice but to follow suit.

"Hey, it's okay. These things happen! God knows how many times I've had to call my landlord to open the door for me. He got tired of charging me faster than I did of losing it." Anna reassures her. "Counting last time, though, we owe each other like a whole day together." 

"I feel like this keeps happening because of me," Elsa mutters dejectedly.

"But it's not! Last time we can blame it on the café. Who closes at 10 in this city anyways? And this time we can blame it on, well..." She shrugs, "Your cousin." 

"I _know,"_ Elsa groans. She is well aware that her cousin hadn't known of her plan of meeting with Anna today but she can't suppress the little surge of frustration she feels at the situation. Rapunzel owes her big time for this one.

When they enter the busy subway station, it seems as if the scene Elsa had witnessed a few hours ago has just resumed itself back on. The bucket band is gone, though, replaced now by a lady playing a harp almost twice her size, while the crowd has thickened with New Yorkers trying to make their way home after another day of hustle. It is hard to find a little corner where they can say goodbye without having to part like the Red Sea for an angry commuter who's got no time for couples clogging the path, so eventually the two give up before Anna offers to walk with Elsa down to the platform of her train. 

Elsa doesn't run after the train that is waiting for the hoard of people to step inside. Instead, she lets Anna lead her until they stand next to a column they can lean on.

Anna is beginning to bite her lip when she looks at her, "I really enjoyed spending time with you," she admits. "And thank you, for the cake... and for visiting."

"Of course," she smiles, "thank _you_ for listening. Talking about my parents like that helped me more than I expected it would."

"Any time you need me, I'll be around."

Her first impulse is to reach out for the denim straps hooked on Anna's shoulders, pull her in and kiss her with all the might that's been building up since the night they first met, but the impulse seems capricious at best and at worst, unappealing, given the surrounding bodies of strangers sweating out of every pore. What she does in its place is take a step forward to allow Anna the chance to place her arms around her shoulders while she does the same around her slim waist. The gesture is casual but the contact—its meaning and its warmth—, carries more meaning for Elsa than any kiss she's ever had. 

The faint scent of flowers fills her nostrils as Elsa shamelessly buries her nose in the small space between Anna's neck and shoulder. When they part Anna is grinning from ear to ear, as if she has discovered a secret she is not willing to share yet.

"Will you let me know when you get home?"

"I will."

And just like that, they part ways. Two girls holding an invisible thread that connects to one another; the inevitability of love, slowly but surely, sinking deeply into their hearts.

* * *

When Elsa arrives home her cousin is sitting cross-legged in front of their door. She is pouting, momentarily reminding Elsa of the snotty little girl who's just discovered Santa doesn't exist.

"I'm sorry," Rapunzel mumbles.

She is adequately apologetic but Elsa still chooses to poke some fun at her as she lets the two of them in. "It's alright. But you may have to apologize to Anna too, though."

This elicits first a dramatic gasp, followed by a loud _Nooo_ out of Rapunzel. She then goes on a rampage apologizing profusely, demanding details, saying sorry a few more times, hugging Elsa, squealing, clapping, all the while running to her room and almost jumping to the bathroom because she still has to get ready for her date.

"I promise I'll make it up to you!" she screams from inside the shower, "and you have to tell me everything when I get back!"

Her contagious excitement follows Elsa to her room, where she finds herself still giggling. It isn't until she lays her bag on the desk that she remembers the two books in it, only taking out the infamous pink one that Anna's decided to give as a present. She wonders if Pablo Neruda is a poet she likes, or if she's just given it to her as a joke because Elsa had been so flustered by his words. Either reason works in her mind, the most crucial aspect being that Anna has gifted her something. Deciding to read at least one full poem, she sits softly on her bed. When she leafs through it, however, she finds that all the pages are untouched except for one that's been dog-eared. She opens it curiously and finds a little star scribbled next to the title.

With each word she reads, Elsa feels her heart soar higher and higher.

_And when you appear_

_all the rivers sound_

_in my body, bells_

_shake the sky,_

_and a hymn fills the world._


	3. A game of push and pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments make my heart blossom. Thank you.

"Do it."

"But what if she's got plans already?"

"You won't know until you do it."

Anna stares at her phone again without so much as a twitch of her thumbs hovering over the screen. The keypad is open, mocking with expectation.

" _Anna."_

"You have to take into consideration that she's got a life. Her classes just started too... she might have homework to do or books to read—"

"I'll fart if you don't call her right now."

"What the hell kind of threat is that?"

Without sparing a glance in her direction, Kristoff's response comes in a tilt of his hips.

"Okay, okay, okay!"

Anna unlocks her phone; begins typing Elsa's contact number; looks back at Kristoff's profile. "You know, you can't just blackmail people with farts. That's not a thing."

"It's a thing as long as it bothers you," he singsongs. 

Rolling her eyes gets no reaction out of her friend; he is still too busy killing martians and grunting at the TV screen across from him.

She goes back to mulling over her self-inflicted predicament.

The first week of their last year of college has come to an end and, predictably, her friends have chosen to commemorate it with an evening spent at the bar. Anna swears this is the first and only night she'll give in (a blatant lie), if anything because the excuse is reasonable enough and mostly because Kristoff is pushing her to invite Elsa as well. It's been two weeks since they spent the afternoon together and since then, they have texted only sporadically. In the meantime, Elsa has yet to mention a single thing about the poem Anna left marked with a star that looks worse than an elementary child's, and ever since that day her mind has been torturing itself with numerous outcomes. She fears, at best, that Elsa hasn't read the poem but at worst, Anna is afraid that she may have pushed it to the point where Elsa is unsure of what to say. 

_Well, who dedicates a poem after the second time of meeting?_

_That'd be you, sweet Anna._

She groans out loud. Her embarrassment is not big enough that she wants to avoid Elsa, although it makes it sufficiently hard to find the courage to invite her. But she really misses her and more than that, she misses her voice, which is why she's using this as an excuse to hear it again. And while she's never been a fan of calling people, Anna can't help either the desire that's been slowly brewing in the depths of her heart with each day passing by. She is incredibly infatuated; that much she was quick in admitting to herself during their afternoon together. And how could she not? When Elsa is striking in every sense of the word. When she is gentle in the way she laughs and the way she looks at her; when she listens to her with honest interest, or easily laughs at her theatrics and jokes with her as if she's known her all her life. Anna knows she's in far too deep. So yes, she will be calling her even though calling gives Anna the jeebies and Elsa hasn't read the poem (or so she thinks). Modern love be damned: she's pulling old school moves.

After huffing out a short breath of determination, she taps on the green button. As soon as it begins dialing, Anna jumps out of the couch. She's too angsty to keep still so she paces behind Kristoff's couch, at times glancing at the screen where Halo is killing a monster (she's not sure that's his name; she keeps forgetting), and at others petting his bear of a dog, Sven.

Elsa answers after the fourth dial. She is nearly panting. "Hi!"

"Elsa? Hi! Am I interrupting something?"

"No, I was just out for a run but I was almost done anyways. How are you?" Anna figures she must be by the river because she can barely hear her voice beneath the rustling of the wind.

"I'm good! And you?"

"Good... " She can _hear_ Elsa smile, immediately biting her lip to suppress her own. _God, you're a goner._

"That's good!" _Stop saying that word, you sound like a parrot._ By now Kristoff has paused his game to watch her while she makes her way back to the couch and starts picking at a lose thread off the armrest. "So, um, I was wondering... Do you have any plans tonight?" The only thing missing, Anna thinks, is a phone cord she can interlace her finger with. She feels like in a 70's picture. 

"I don't, actually. Why?"

There is a brief pause in which Anna looks for support in her best friend who provides a pair of thumbs up and a foolish grin. _What a guy._ "So my friends and I are planning on going to a bar. They said they want to celebrate our last year of college or something like that. Would you like to come? It's pretty casual and Kristoff will be there, you know Kristoff. So will I, obviously—"

She's cut off by Elsa's airy laughter. "You're cute when you rant," she says. "I have a few things to do during the afternoon but I can definitely make it. Where's this place?

Anna's cheeks are not done blushing from the compliment but the joy of success is somewhere beneath there. "It's called... What's it called?"

"The Fat Goose." Kristoff says.

"The Fat Goose. On..?"

"Sixth and twenty-fifth."

"Sixth and twenty-fifth! I'd say around eight?"

Kristoff resumes his game once he gets the confirmation from Anna that everything has gone as planned. Through the phone she can hear a car honking instead of the rushing of the wind, so she figures Elsa must be heading home now. She's always thought that whoever runs on a Saturday morning mustn't be right in their minds but this is Elsa, and Anna is in the mood to make an exception to her own rule.

"That's perfect," she breathes. "I'll see you tonight then."

"Yes! Great... I can't wait to see you." The last part is almost a murmur, mainly because she's trying to hide her cheesiness from Kristoff. There's a reputation to maintain, after all.

Elsa hums. "I can't wait to see you either, Anna."

"Bye—"

"Wear something sexy!"

Anna quickly hangs up, more mortified than she's ever been in her entire life. "Kristoff!" Her best friend is laughing so hard he's forgotten all about his video game while Sven is jumping on the couch with his tail wagging furiously, oblivious to a reason but excited as only dogs can be. She grabs a pillow from behind her back and throws it as hard as she can. "If she heard you, I promise I'll kill you in your sleep!"

Somehow the threat makes him guffaw until he's doubling at the waist. "It'll be a worthy death," he blurts between breaths.

In the end, she remains indignant for the rest of the morning until Kristoff buys her lunch as a peace offering.

* * *

The bar at 8 pm on a Saturday night is predictably crowded. There is a blur of conversations indistinguishable from each other while funky 80's music plays from speakers that no one knows where they're hidden. To the right, almost a dozen televisions hang on the cedar wall above a myriad of glasses and bottles half-full of spirits, and to the left, high top tables lining the wall opposite to the bar are huddled by people too animated to sit. Placed on the corner farthest from the entrance are two dart boards where Anna, Kristoff, Aladdin and a few more friends are currently cheering louder than a crowd at an Olympic stadium. Their game is simple: whoever hits the center three times in a row must watch the rest of the group chug their drinks. It isn't cheap, Anna knows that, but neither is victory. Which is why she is focusing her entire soul into this and, despite her clumsiness, has been hitting the bullseye like a champion. However, the nervous expectation of seeing Elsa tonight makes her reach for her drink each time faster than the last, so after winning twice in a row she decides to retire while she's still on top— _like a damn champion_ —. She has to force herself to drink slower even though her friends seem to be determined to get drunk. But however much she may hope that their dignities stay intact by the end of the night, she has to admit that she enjoys watching Aladdin hit a light rather than the board and Kristoff look for a dart that's been sitting in the tiny space between his ear and his head the entire time.

She knows they're being a tad obnoxious with their game, but Anna is comforted when she looks around and finds that everyone else is too busy drinking away another week of pretending to know what they're doing as half-functioning adults. A few people cheer at some dude scoring the same goal on three different TV screens at the same time that Aladdin finally hits the bullseye

"Anna, drink!"

"But I'm not playing anymore!"

Aladdin pushes her Long Island closer to her face, "Don't care!"

She grimaces but chugs it anyway. "This tastes like shit." The iced tea part had sounded appealing but in reality it tasted like someone had poured pure alcohol into the cough syrup her mother used to make her drink as a kid. More like a decade old cough syrup at that; she feels like barfing.

While her friends pause the game to prevent quick alcohol poisoning, Anna chooses to put a complete halt on her drinking until Elsa gets there because she doesn't want to welcome her with a slobbery mouth and half open eyes. The blonde has texted her to let her know she has just gotten off the train station and is now walking the few blocks that lead to the bar. She lets Kristoff know this for no other reason than because she'll burst from it if she doesn't share it with someone, but it ends up being counterproductive, because she gets more hyped up when Kristoff bumps the air with both fists, almost spilling his drink in the process.

Either the alcohol, her best friend or the infatuation have fueled her with excessive energy because she skips all the way to the bathroom.

The unisex restroom, with the LED red lights somebody's decided to install, seems pulled straight out of a sketchy movie scene. She briefly wonders if she's missed a turn somewhere and ended up in an alternative universe... that or she's tripping. It doesn't match the rest of the place at all, but well, it serves its purpose. In the solitude of the bathroom stall she can now fully focus on the buzzed sensation she's being hit with. It must have been that last, horrendous chug, she thinks. It's fascinating; the powers of deep realization one can attain in such a small, unsanitary space. But Anna knows there is no more time to sober up before Elsa arrives. She might already be here while Anna's trapped somewhere in an alien spaceship.

_Oh,_ _Elsa_...

Anna is not sure if this ridiculous amount of excitement she feels should be normal. It's only been a month since they've met, after all. But who cares, right? She's seen worse plots in movies that sell millions. And this, whatever she has with Elsa, might not be a million dollar story but hell if it isn't worth every single minute of Anna's precious life on this earth.

Out of nowhere, she giggles alone; its echo bounces right back. There are words scribbled all over the door and Anna's eyes fall on a sentence that's been written with a Sharpie:

_Howard Moon will bum you silly for loose change._

She tsks. "That's cheap, Howard."

It is time to go, she decides. She's spent too much time contemplating life, it's starting to get to her head.

Back from the restroom, Anna notices two things: one, that only a few minutes have passed ( _damn, that really was a trippy room)_ and two, that the drunkest of her group have gone back to playing darts. Everyone's spirits have remained high whether they're almost poking each other's eyes out with a dart or just chatting animatedly, but Anna's own spirits reach to the sky the moment she finds Elsa making her way towards her from across the room. She is wearing the same black boots from the night they met, except that this time she's donned a gray blazer atop a shirt sporting Wonder Woman on the front and tucked inside tight ripped jeans that Anna has a hard time ungluing her eyes from. She swears she could chant to the heavens with the way Elsa's hips sway as she walks. A few people glance her way when she strides past but Anna can't blame them, let alone be jealous; not when the blonde's entire face lights up the moment her eyes meet Anna's.

It occurs as if in slow motion: the couple of steps that Anna requires to meet her halfway before falling into an embrace she's never too sure she'll grow accustomed to. She is addicted, indeed, to the way Elsa smells of jasmine and mint, and to the feeling of her arms around her waist. It is then, with her chin safely placed on top of her shoulder, that she notices Eugene grinning and standing hand in hand with Rapunzel. She had forgotten that one of her closest friends was dating her crush's cousin.

She lets the girl go at the same time that she greets Rapunzel and officially introduces herself. Elsa's cousin forgoes the formalities, giving her a hug that depicts a familiarity that Anna enjoys. Right away, she can see that Rapunzel poses as a near opposite to her cousin. Whereas Elsa is calm and poised, Rapunzel is animated and naturally sociable. So besides the fact that she's finally met the person closest to Elsa, it makes Anna excited to think that they could become friends of their own.

Greeting Eugene takes half the energy: "Hey asshole." She smiles as she says this, which gets a laugh out of Eugene before he ruffles her hair with his free hand.

They make their way towards the rest of the group with Eugene leading the way along with Rapunzel, leaving Elsa and Anna lagging behind.

"I'm sorry for being late. Rapunzel kept changing outfits until we both threatened to leave without her."

Anna smiles at her. "It's okay, I didn't mind waiting." Although she did, slightly. She just couldn't wait to see her again.

"You look beautiful."

Compared to the stunning girl walking by her side, Anna feels diminutive in her black jeans and dark green crop top, but the compliment washes over her anyways. "You look beautifuller—I mean not fuller you don't look fuller, but _more_ beautiful... Sorry." She doesn't know whether to blame this on the alcohol or her own natural awkwardness but, regardless, Elsa giggles.

"Thank you," she says.

When they reach her friends Kristoff is the first to greet Elsa. He wraps his hunky arms around her shoulders while Elsa's slender ones barely reach around his back. They exchange a few words that Anna can't hear because Aladdin is too busy yelling something at Eugene about needing help to beat the champion's ass. She cannot, however, suppress the contentment she feels at watching her best friend take Elsa in as one of their own. After all introductions are over, they agree to resume their game while Elsa suggests getting some drinks.

They make their way over to the bar, dodging more people this round than Anna had the last time. She has no idea what to order because she's already regretted her own choice once, so she lets Elsa choose for her. "I'll get us vodka cranberries then, can't go wrong with that one."

She shrugs. Last time she had cranberry juice she was like, twelve.

It takes them some time to get the bartender's attention, who looks unrealistically serene given the amount of requested drinks people throw his way. While Elsa shouts her order twice at him Anna takes her sweet time observing her profile. Despite the light, she can still see the few freckles spotted on skin that looks entirely made of porcelain. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and her lips sport a light crimson hue that attracts Anna like light does to a moth. It's those same lips that curl up in a knowing smile after Elsa turns to look back at her. Anna can feel herself blushing, but says nothing; she's stopped trying to comprehend the incomprehensible when it comes to her behavior around Elsa.

"How are you?"

"I'm... better," Anna says. It's enough of a suggestion and Elsa doesn't seem to miss it.

"Miss me?" She smirks.

_More than you know._ "Maybe."

Elsa laughs a little. "How did your first week go?"

"It was good. It was just the usual introductory lessons where the professors blab on about what the class is gonna be about, what the goals are, the requirements we must meet if we want to be successful in life, yada, yada. Only difference now is that they're really forcing us to think about our future after college."

"And have you thought about what you'd like to do?"

Anna shakes her head vigorously. "God no. Every time I think about it I feel like running into a wall." 

They're interrupted by the bartender placing their drinks in front of them. When she reaches for her wallet to pay, Elsa stops her. _It's okay,_ she mouths. Anna pouts. The girl has paid and she didn't even notice because she was too busy thinking about what it would be like to kiss her. A little embarrassing that one. 

Anna thanks her as she reaches for her glass and promises to get the next round. Being this her third drink, she knows she must proceed with caution if she doesn't want to tumble out of the bar in a couple of hours. _Perhaps water for the next one._ They cheer, as proposed by Elsa, to her last year of college before they take a sip off their vodka cranberries. She doesn't taste the alcohol, which is welcomed, but also quite dubious because she knows those tend to be the killer ones. 

Well fuck it...

"What about you?" She finally asks. By a silent, mutual agreement they choose to linger by the bar instead of returning to the group.

"Classes started off good, too and I'm excited about my courses this semester. It's not my last year, though, so the professors weren't pestering us with talks of the future."

Elsa's courses, turns out, have a lot to do with pathology and organ structure; little of which Anna really understands but develops an interest for anyways, because Elsa is so enthralled by it that she is grinning as she talks about repairing major tissues and neoplasia, and Anna can't help but feel excited just by watching her. The blonde, however, catches up with what she's saying and takes a swig from her glass. "I'm sorry, I was ranting wasn't I?"

Anna, with her chin supported by the hand propped on the bar keeps on staring dreamily at her. "You weren't. I enjoyed listening."

Elsa rolls her eyes playfully. "Yeah, right." Another swig. _Is she trying to catch up?_ "You know, you still haven't showed me any of your writings."

This takes her effectively out of her trance while she drinks to delay the answer. "I'm not sure you'd like it. I don't think I've written anything decent lately..."

"Isn't that something every great writer has said at one point in their lives?"

"Should I be looking for a compliment somewhere in there?" She asks back. Pushed by strangers continuously searching for the bartender's attention, the two have ended inches away from each other. Anna is half sitting on a stool while Elsa's given up on hers entirely; she is so close now that if Anna spread her legs she could fit perfectly between them.

"You can look for it anywhere you like." _Is she flirting?_ Her voice must have dropped a scale unless Anna's mind has decided to play tricks on her. And to tell the truth, everything's becoming hazier now that she is almost done with her drink. _These things don't last a second._

Elsa lets go of whatever act she had going on for a second and continues: "Why do you think your work isn't good?"

"Because it feels forced. Nothing flows. It's been happening more and more that I can't think of anything. No ideas, no inspiration, nothing. It's like my head is clogged or some shit—sorry—. It's my last year of college so I'm definitely nervous, especially when all I can think of are recycled ideas. Before—at the beginning—, I used to get distracted by my own thoughts, you know? I'd be out at work or with my friends, and a thought would hit me and I would get so frustrated because I felt like if I didn't write it down somewhere I'd lose the thread forever." Anna finishes her drink once and for all. To hell with sobriety; it's not like she had any to begin with. "I miss that feeling."

"Where do you usually get your inspiration from?"

Anna shrugs. "People, mostly. Sometimes I go people watching. Some other times I go to a park and end up talking to strangers, but Kristoff gets worried that I'll be abducted or something. Anyways, it's dry as hell in there," she concludes, pointing at her head. She really doesn't want to talk much about her work, she wants to talk about Elsa, to know more about her life and the science that gets her going like a wind-up toy.

"Annaaa!"

She flinches before looking at the source of the communal call. Her friends are screaming from across the bar, beckoning the two of them to get back and start the game. She is positive they will get kicked out if her friends keep up with these shenanigans. Also, she had forgotten they were supposed to get the drinks and head back, which is ironic because Anna's is now gone and Elsa is almost done with her own. They agree that Anna will get water for herself and another vodka cranberry for Elsa, as long as the blonde promises to go slower with the second than she did with the first.

The order takes less time and as soon as Anna pays she grabs her glass of water and nods at Elsa to follow her. She doesn't go far before Elsa's cool hand grabs her forearm, "Wait," she says.

When she turns around Elsa is looking at her with something akin to longing. Anna steps closer.

"I've been wanting to ask you... Was that poem meant for me?" 

_The poem!_ So she's read it after all. Sweet baby Jesus, the relief! She should perhaps feign aloofness, maybe act like a cool Casanova looking at his next victim, but Anna can already feel her self-consciousness warmly propagate across the soft skin of her cheeks and there's nothing she can do anymore. "Yes..."

The blonde bites her lip; her hand has yet to let go of Anna's arm. "I think that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever given me."

The confession throws her off. "Really?"

Elsa nods. "At the beginning I wasn't sure if it had been you because there was nothing but a little star. That's why I waited to ask you until I saw you again. I didn't want to make any assumptions."

"I was a little nervous when you didn't acknowledge it," she admits. An understatement, really. She was almost crawling up the walls from overthinking.

"I'm sorry, I should've figured you would be expecting some kind of reaction." Her hand leaves a trail of goosebumps down Anna's arm, until her fingertips brush past her pulse point to surround her own warm hand. "To be honest, all this time I kept hoping it was you."

A rush of tenderness surges from the deepest corners of her body, overwhelming Anna to the point where she fully clasps Elsa's hand with the intention to pull her closer.

"Yo!"

Eugene is standing right behind them with Rapunzel in tow cringing and mouthing 'sorry' at the two girls. Anna is so livid she could punch something while Elsa isn't succeeding any better at hiding her frustration behind her free hand. "We gave you enough time to smooch but some of us would still like to get a drink," he says. He is grinning mischievously as he says this and Anna is positive he's done it on purpose. _THE NERVE OF THIS MAN._

Anna gives him a murderous smile and pats his chest harder than necessary, "You two are the biggest cockblockers ever," she grits between teeth, making sure Elsa doesn't hear her as they begin to leave their spot by the bar. She had been so ready to kiss her right there because it had felt like the only logical action to follow those words. But the moment is gone like a butterfly that's been scared away at the very last second, and Anna is starting to think that this will never happen unless she locks them in a room without a single distraction from this godawful universe.

The music pauses for a moment before giving way to David Bowie's _Let's Dance_ , turning up the ambiance of the bar with a more buoyant energy. It sets the mood right, somehow, because Anna chooses to let go of her frustration and focus on the loving sensation of Elsa's fingers moving to interlace with her own. Her feet make a little dance along with the beat of the music while she lets Elsa lead them back to the group, grinning at the way numerous men turn their heads to look at the two of them. She feels unattainable; larger than life; as if she's walking on clouds and these men couldn't hold a single candle to the girl holding her hand.

And maybe she should stop watching so many movies because everything feels like one tonight.

Everyone cheers as they're approached by the two girls and Anna realizes every single one of them is far gone. Rapunzel and Eugene join them shortly after and they resume the game. With both the alcohol and the vibe of the music thrown in the mix, nobody does a good job at hitting the target. Especially not Elsa, who, Anna soon learns, has all the accuracy of a drunk panda and none of the excuse of being drunk. Buzzed, perhaps, but definitely not drunk. Although she soon catches up with the way she abysmally loses while Anna enjoys the upper hand by drinking water. Unfortunately, this soon changes after Kristoff comes back grinning and holding two drinks.

"I'm pretty sure the floor's gonna start moving soon, Kristoff, are you trying to kill me?" Granted, they kept serving them in Old Fashioned glasses, but the fact that Anna's lost count of how many she's had is not a good sign either.

"Can't fool me, don't think I didn't see you drinking water, you can handle another one." She can't even begin to come up with a retort because Elsa's already sipping hers with a sheepish look on her face. _Sweet child, what have they done to you?_

"Damn, Elsa, what happened to your face?" Kristoff mumbles.

"What? What happened?"

"He's trying to say your face is very red, sweetheart." The pet name falls naturally from her lips and Anna finds herself smiling. Elsa, however, seems to have missed it.

"Did you know people with Asian heritage tend to flush red when they drink?"

"I did not know that. Do you have Asian heritage, then?" Nothing indicates that she does but a buzzed Elsa is a fun Elsa, and if she's going to keep drinking then Anna might as well enjoy the random comments delivered by her.

"I don't," she frowns. "But I wish! Asian people are so cute and smart and have a really nice sense of style. Anyways, it's because of the enzymes. Or the hormones. No, it's definitely the enzymes." Elsa begins mumbling something about deficiencies but Anna only manages to catch half of the drunken explanation even though she's craned her neck enough that her ear is inches away from the blonde's flushed face. Regardless, she lets her finish without interrupting. Kristoff spaced out somewhere in the middle.

The night goes on.

Half of the room is dancing. Prince is giving it his all through the speakers of the bar and so is Anna, that is, until she's finally stripped of the last remnants of inhibition she had and openly goggles Elsa as she begins swaying her hips to the rhythm of _Kiss._ She gives up on the game soon after because everyone's stopped giving a damn about the rules, even if she finds it as the perfect excuse to focus on nothing else but the blonde who's slowly becoming the embodiment of Anna's biggest desire. Elsa's taken off her blazer and with the shirt tucked in, Anna can have a perfect view of her ass while she approaches the girl and her cousin, curling in her fingers as an attempt to restrain herself from pulling her closer at the waist. Instead, Anna goes for a hand on the lower back.

Rapunzel grins at her, "We were just talking about you."

"Oh." She sees Elsa's eyes widen at this and her curiosity instantly peaks. "What about?"

It seems as though whatever they were discussing wasn't supposed to reach her ears because Elsa is blushing profusely and Rapunzel is smiling with mischief. _This girl is perfect for Eugene._ "We were just saying how good you were with the darts."

Anna narrows her eyes. Elsa's relief is too obvious, but she lets it slide when the blonde chugs her drink and mumbles something about using the restroom. Turning back to Rapunzel she asks, "So what were you _really_ talking about?"

Rapunzel laughs out loud. "I'll let her answer that question eventually."

Elsa apparently leaves her embarrassment in the restroom because when she returns she is everything but shy. In fact, she's turned into a woman with a purpose, and that purpose appears to be arousing Anna to the point where she cannot function. It all begins with an innocent tug of her hand while Anna is still talking to Rapunzel, followed by a not so innocent pull that ends with their bodies pressed against each other.

_I need you tonight_

_'Cause I'm not sleeping_

The sensuous beat of the music drives Elsa to place her hands on her hips, sending an electrifying jolt through Anna's body the moment they come in contact with the skin just above the hem of her jeans. She can feel her pulse quicken as she rests her arms above Elsa's shoulders and allows the girl to guide the movement of their hips.

_There's something about you girl_

_That makes me sweat_

They fall in sync at the same time that Anna shuts everything out except for the way Elsa's warmth feels against her body. Looking down rather than facing forward, Anna's cheek brushes from time to time with Elsa's. She can hear her breathing unevenly even though the music is beginning to engulf her senses, just as she can faintly smell the alcohol seeping through the blonde's parted lips. And it is here, at exactly this realization that Anna prevents herself from cupping the nape of her neck and pulling her down for a searing kiss. She feels close to combustion, however, when a pair of bold hands snake higher beneath her shirt and squeeze with wanton at her waist.

Blame it on her idiotic need for a perfect romance, but she refuses to kiss Elsa for the first time when they've been infused with alcohol almost up to their heads. As soon as the song ends, Anna steps away from her and tries to appease the blonde's confusion by excusing herself before almost stumbling to the bathroom. She doesn't look back until she's safe inside a stall.

The floor is spinning, forcing Anna to lean against the shut door and take gulps of air to soothe her drunken, increasing arousal. She feels flustered but most of all, she feels like an idiot. An even greater idiot for letting her head control her impulses and an asshole too, for leaving Elsa just like that. _Why the hell did I do that?_ With a sting, she realizes that the blonde hasn't followed her, but she can't blame her either. She should have let herself go; let whatever was to happen, happen but instead she ran away like a scared little girl, even when she wanted nothing more than to finally give in to Elsa. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ She repetitively bangs her head on the door behind her, but to no avail, the mistake is done.

Her heart sinks when she returns a few minutes later. Elsa has her blazer back on and seems to be waiting for her with a less desirable expression on her face. Needless to say, she softens up when Anna approaches her with an apology ready. An apology that never makes it out of her lips. "We're gonna head out," Elsa says. Standing by her side, Rapunzel gives her an apologetic smile.

Fighting against the sluggishness of her brain, Anna struggles to find an excuse, or an idea, or _anything_ that will make Elsa stay. She finds none, even as Elsa is giving her a brief hug that she's too stunned to correspond properly.

"Elsa, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." For the first time when it comes to Anna, the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "You had to use the restroom. Can't blame you for that."

"Wait—"

"Anna. It's okay, really... We're okay." 

Elsa hesitates for a second.

In the end, the peck she leaves on Anna's cheek is nothing but painfully bittersweet.


	4. The tender act of reconciliation

The breeze coming from the East River playfully tousles Elsa's bangs away from her face as she continues to make her way south. She had meant to run this morning. She really had. She was even determined to go for the usual five miles round but her mind kept going faster than she could keep up with, until she gave in to walking instead, gazing at the buildings that cluster Brooklyn's skyline and the Williamsburg bridge that cuts like a spear of steel through the clear morning sky. The park through which she runs almost every morning is bare of its usual visitors, making the trees that are slowly stripping off its greenery to welcome the Fall Elsa's only innocuous companions.

Memories from last night keep showing up unannounced and without order in her mind. Like a movie on a loop, she keeps seeing Anna's look of vulnerability as she admits having dedicated the poem to her; a confession that left Elsa feeling so utterly flattered and with such an overwhelming sense of appreciation towards Anna that it felt like she was seeing her on a different light altogether. She recalls their hug and how Elsa wanted nothing more than to spin the girl in her arms from the joy she felt at seeing her again. The glances they kept sharing, even from across the room, or the way each moment they touched; by the bar; as they walked; while they danced, was highlighted by such a momentous sensation that she could no longer dismiss it as mere physical contact.

Elsa tries to think back to the way she felt when she was nineteen, back when she was so terrified of the consequences of her feelings that she forced herself to think that what they were doing could pass off as deep affection between two best friends. She can recall a similar emotion even then, despite it being marred with doubt and unease. But she cannot recall experiencing the same plenitude she feels every time she is with Anna, nor the same familiarity. Is it possible to feel this way so soon? So easily?

Of course, no answer comes from the wind and nothing makes sense either way. Not last night, nor Anna's hot and cold demeanor. Not Elsa's disappointment, and certainly not her leaving the bar like a kid who didn't get her way. 

Has she overreacted?

Perhaps she has. Even if it feels easier to aim the frustration that courses through her veins at Anna, or better yet, at the situation that's been feeding on nothing but confusion and inconclusive emotions ever since the girl left Elsa groping the air that she had occupied only seconds before. Because that's the burden that feels the heaviest: the easiness with which Anna stepped away after making Elsa believe the entire night that she wanted this as much as Elsa did. She knows Anna must have had her own reasons and she has to plead guilty of at least wanting to escalate things perhaps faster than should have been intended. She knows she gave in entirely to her body's cravings. The alcohol had broken through the inhibitions Elsa carefully kept close at heart, but it had been with the soft skin of Anna's beneath her hands that she came undone. So what lay behind Anna's sudden behavior? Elsa tries to put herself in the girl's shoes. There is no doubt that Anna feels something that goes beyond platonic emotions and while Elsa may be no expert, she knows when someone is pinning after her even if most of the time she chooses to ignore it. But with Anna everything felt different from the start. Elsa is consoled by the presence of her, as if she's finally met someone with whom she can let her guard down without the fear of repercussions. It simply comes down to this: with Anna there is a connection she wants, _needs_ to explore, because deep down there exists an inner voice that insists on telling her that she will regret it for the rest of her life if she doesn't.

In her daze, Elsa ends up reaching the entrance to the Manhattan Bridge and decides to take the train back home instead of walking back. With that pace she could have reached Wall Street before noon but her legs, just like her mind, are getting tired of roaming about. The streets feel heavy with the lazy breath of a Sunday morning, only the people searching for coffee are out at this time. Pedestrians aren't pushing to get to their destination and more stores than not sport a 'Closed' sign on their windows. 

The way to Canal Street is quiet; even the sirens are giving it a rest. At this time Anna is probably still passed out in bed and the thought makes Elsa smile. _What a fool you are._ How can you stay mad at someone who's so ridiculously adorable and most likely snores in their sleep? 

And how is it, she wonders, that one after another, people struggle to get in touch with the real her? That they find it hard to step through her walls and in exchange she finds it easy to keep them far enough that they can't influence her emotions? And how is it then, that out of nowhere, a person can come into her life and take hold of the little strings she thought she'd cut off years ago from her heart? Elsa has no answer for any of this. The same way that she cannot explain the flourish of emotions she's been experiencing for the past few weeks every time the thought or the presence of Anna makes itself known. What she does know is that she's never been surer of wanting to be around someone as much as she does with Anna. And perhaps there lays the answer to both her inexplicable feelings and Anna's much wiser decision. The good things, the things that feel right, require the ancient virtue of patience, not a make out session in the dimmed back of a bar.

When she arrives home she finds her cousin sprawled on the couch scrolling through her phone. Her short brown hair is sticking out in all directions and she looks like she's barely made it out of her bed.

"I thought you'd ran away," Rapunzel says when she steps into the small living room space.

"I just needed to get fresh air." 

Her cousin hums, skeptical. "I almost had breakfast without you. Who sulks so early in the morning anyways? And _outside?_ I'd be three covers deep and demanding you bring me breakfast in bed."

Elsa's eyebrow arches in defiance. "Number one: Pop tarts aren't breakfast. Two: I wasn't sulking. And three: You already do those things." She swats Rapunzel's legs so that she can sit on the couch. It isn't until her body sinks into the cushions that she realizes how drained she is from walking around aimlessly. She could fall asleep right there.

Rapunzel, however, prevents that from happening when she starts poking Elsa's arm with her big toe. "Whatever. You never agree to it anyway. What's a girl gotta do around here to be spoiled by your cold ass heart? Not all of us can be Anna, you know?"

Elsa glares at her but only manages to draw a chuckle from her cousin. Rapunzel's feet keep on dancing against her arm so she gives up on resting and stands to walk towards the kitchen. Her cousin finally sits up like a civilized human being, although the pestering has yet to stop. "Admit it, she left you with the worst blue balls in history and you got salty that you couldn't even get to kiss her in the mouth."

"That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard you say. And you say a lot of absurd things." 

Rapunzel shrugs, indifferent to the bland insult. "You know it's true."

She looks at her with an icy stare that her cousin is immune to but makes no attempt at rebutting her remark. Admitting it would be an overstatement of the circumstances but denying it would obliterate part of the truth. She _is_ salty she couldn't kiss Anna last night.

"Stop brooding now, she likes you."

"How are _you_ so sure?"

"Because the sexual tension between you two was suffocating the entire place, Elsa. I know she acted weird at the end but that girl likes you. And you know that too."

Despite it all, Elsa couldn't deny that bit either. _Did you forget about the poem already?_ She hasn't, in fact, forgotten. She's read it so many times she's starting to memorize it.

Rapunzel joins her a few seconds later and regardless of her teasing, does help Elsa with making breakfast. Her cousin's ability to pick on her to no end helps her enough to finally leave the whole matter behind. And although Anna never really leaves her mind, Elsa welcomes the distraction of falling into a habitual Sunday in which she can let go of the stress of the week with trashy food, talking nonsense with Rapunzel and lousy series that she'd never admit she deeply enjoys.

It is late afternoon when both Rapunzel and Elsa split ways to look into the responsibilities they neglected for almost the entire weekend. As usual, Elsa decides to get a head start on her work for the upcoming week, sitting at her desk and skimming through pages of anatomy and pathology before she sets to write down her plans for the next few days. The action of detailed preparation has always been cathartic for her; so engulfing it is, in fact, that when her phone vibrates from an incoming call she nearly jumps out of her chair.

Her eyes widen slightly when she reads Anna's name on the screen. At this point Elsa isn't sure if her heart's rapid beating is being caused by the startle or Anna.

"Hello?"

"Hi..." The voice coming through the speaker is apologetic on its own.

"Hi, Anna." _Did that sound too stern or is that just me?_

"How are you?"

"I'm okay. How's the hangover?"

There's shuffling on the other end of the line followed by a little grunt. "Been regretting it all day. I don't know how you sound so alive. I still feel like dying."

_She's probably still in bed._ Elsa smirks. "Whenever I drink a lot I down two Ibuprofens and a whole glass of water before passing out. You wake up feeling alive, like me."

Another grunt. "Thanks, doctor. Could have mentioned it yesterday, though."

"Well you kind of prevented that from happening..." She mutters, immediately face-palming at her choice of words as they cut effectively through the lightness of their conversation and turn it upside down. She doesn't mean to sound so resentful, and she does cringe a little, but words have the magical feature of never coming back to being unheard; they don't give a damn about what you meant to say.

She hears Anna sigh. "Elsa... I'm sorry about last night."

"It's o—"

"No, it—it wasn't very cool... what I did. I was enjoying myself so much and it felt so good to have you there, I don't know why I reacted like that. Well, I do. But I'd rather discuss that in person if you don't mind." 

Curiosity nearly causes her to insist on an answer but she refrains from asking further. "I understand. I'm also sorry, for leaving like that." Her voice sounds so small, Elsa isn't sure Anna has heard it. She begins to pace slowly in her room, rearranging the books on her shelf, squaring up her laptop on her desk. She is hoping that Anna will carry on with the conversation because she's riled up her mind so much and numbed it afterwards with four episodes of Friends that she's done coming up with any coherent thoughts for the day. 

Thankfully, Anna does, "Can't blame you for it." Although they're the echo of the words Elsa said yesterday, they don't carry the same severity. "What I would like to say right now, though, is that I'm really very sorry. Do you think we could move past it?"

Elsa considers this for too little a time. After all, she's made her decision somewhere between the Manhattan Bridge and 3rd Avenue, and really, she just doesn't wish to dwell on this any longer. If her conclusions are true, and she has a feeling they are, she has no reason to be upset, let alone frustrated. Plus, Anna doesn't deserve to be punished for something like this. "We can... but you owe me something."

Anna laughs, her voice softening to a near whisper. "What do I owe you?"

_A kiss._

"I'll have to think about it."

* * *

Days turn into weeks as both Anna and Elsa fall into an unforeseen, yet habitually busy schedule. Elsa buries herself in the library and practically lives on campus while Anna drills holes through her own brain, working on the prompts and themes she's been assigned for a project that's supposed to last the whole last year of college. They share texts between running from one building to another and downing cafeteria burritos in four bites. But mostly, they share phone calls that almost make up for the fact that their schedules remain unmatched.

For anyone who visits Columbia University, Butler Library tends to be the destination that leaves most mouths agape. Mirroring the Public Library on 5th Avenue with its characteristically imposing façade, its warm, wooden colors and inherent tranquility, it is the perfect place to suck Elsa in during the mornings that she doesn't have class and spew her out in the afternoons, unaware beyond repair of the conception of time. It is here that she finds herself, three weeks after the night at the bar, receiving a customary text from Anna that results in not so customary circumstances.

It begins with a simple question: _What are you up to?_

Her cellphone vibrates against the table she is sharing with five more people whose expressions Elsa looks up to check when the vibration obnoxiously reverberates in the near muteness of the hall. Except for a girl who's felt it rather than heard it (thank God for headphones) nobody pays any attention to her.

She quickly types in a reply.

_The usual..._

_Library?_

She chuckles. Anna's getting to know her quite well. _Indeed. And you?_

_I don't have class until 4 today so I'm wandering around like the lonely pickle I am :(_

Elsa has to cover the giggle that bursts forth, for some reason the picture of Anna dressed up in a pickle costume is all she can think about. She leaves that idea for another time, though, so she replies instead: _Aw, I'm sure you've got a line of people wanting to hang out with you_

_I actually don't! And there's only one person I'm interested in spending time with anyway_

_And that is..?_

It takes only a few seconds for a new text to arrive: _Come outside and find out._

Elsa has often been told that she should pride herself in being a young woman with a composure beyond her years. Her movements tend to be smooth, sophisticated, never more than is necessary. She is subtle in the way she treads and even when she runs she maintains a degree of poise that could be envied by many. Yet this time, she trips twice on her way out of the library. First, with a leg of the chair she is using (successfully garnering a few glares when the chair scrapes on the linoleum floor) and then, after she almost misses a step on the stairs that lead to the main reception. When she approaches the exit, she pauses and waits for her dignity to catch up while she arranges her long, loose hair and the nonexistent wrinkles on her sweater. The fact that she can't even remember the last time she stumbled is bad; twice in a row is mortifying; but that it is a girl that's caused her to act so uncharacteristically clumsy falls on a whole different level. Elsa thanks the heavens Anna did not have to witness that.

She takes a deep breath as soon as she steps into the revolving door. Her eyes readjust at the change from the warm, natural lighting of the library to the bright, midday sun glaring down on the courtyard of the main campus before failing to spot the copper hair Elsa expected to find as soon as she walked out. She isn't sure if this is Anna's attempt at joking around or if she's missed a memo somewhere in their texts, so she decides to call her.

Anna picks up after the first dial. "Hi!"

" _Anna,_ " she drawls. "Where on earth are you?" 

"Well hello, Elsa. I'm in New York City at the moment, what about yourself?"

"Where _in_ New York? Are you here?" _Jeez, desperate much?_

"Sweetheart, you need to be more specific than that." Elsa tries not to swoon at the pet name and fails miserably. _Hasn't she called me sweetheart before?_ She contemplates this for too long andAnna continues: "So... what are you wearing?"

"Sorry what?"

"Yeah, you know, the things you put on every morning to cover your nakedness?"

She rolls her eyes. "A gray sweater and black jeans," she says. _What on earth is she getting at?_ "Is this some sort of game? Are we playing hide and seek?" 

Anna's giggling makes her smile despite the slight frustration she's starting to feel at the banter.

"What makes you think we are?" Anna teases.

"You're making me believe you're here but you're not!"

"But I am."

The voice is no longer coming out of a speaker but from behind Elsa. Like in the last act of a magic trick, the moment she turns around Anna is standing there, showing off the most foolish grin Elsa has yet to witness. She is wearing a violet NYU sweatshirt that keeps attracting second glances from passersby and her copper hair is up in a messy bun that misses the few strands framing her clean face. It is the perfect image of a senior who's had enough of pretending to care about her image.

In a second, Elsa's feet take her straight into Anna's arms. She is too busy relishing in the comfort of her proximity to think of how absurd it is that she is hugging Anna like she hasn't seen her in years. The hands traveling up Elsa's back spread across to cover as much as they can while the flowery scent radiating off the girl's skin fills her nostrils. Anna is laughing softly next to her ear.

_This,_ she thinks, _this feels right._

When she steps back her gaze quickly scans over Anna's features. There are faint lines underneath her teal eyes but the brightness in them has yet to be dimmed by hours of staying up late. Elsa feels enamored in an instant.

The shy laughter at their impromptu meeting breaks the silence but it is Elsa who speaks out first.

"I can't believe you're here."

"Me neither!" Anna is grinning from ear to ear again, no longer looking at the taller girl but at her surroundings. "I had to Google how to get here and I still almost miss the stop," she laughs. "This place is huge! I kept asking for directions but people kept looking at me weird because of my NYU thingy."

The more she talks, the bigger is Elsa's smile. No phone call could ever compare to the real sound of this girl's voice; so carefree it's contagious.

"And did you know I have access and reading privileges at your library?" Anna's wiggling her eyebrows as she says this, "That means I can spend more time here if I want to."

"You wouldn't," she says, "It's too far for you!" _But please, please do!_

"Oh, don't even try me. It only took me thirty-five minutes to get here if you don't count the fifteen I required to get lost."

They begin to walk with no real destination in mind until Elsa assumes the role of a tour guide, promising Anna that no study time would be harmed in the process. Anna finds out from her that her classes aren't here but in the medical center five stops farther north, although she tends to spend the time she needs to study in the Morningside Campus because its library and its lawn don't make her feel so depressed about having to be stuck up here instead of at home. She takes Anna past the Journalism Hall, across the College Walk and into the Lowe Library before going into St. Paul's Chapel which is, in Elsa's opinion, a tad ostentatious for a university to have on its grounds. Regardless, its architecture is beautiful and worthy enough of Anna's continuous 'oohing'.

"People even get married in here," she whispers when they both look up at the haughty dome from inside the chapel.

"Fancy-schmancy," Anna whispers back.

They make their way back to the dining hall after Anna voices her wish for coffee. All this time, neither girl has dared to bring up the subject of what happened at the bar, even though Elsa's mind keeps referring back to the fact that Anna had mentioned something about discussing it in person. Whatever it may be, however, Anna doesn't seem to be bothered by it and so Elsa decides to let the matter come up on its own. After all, none of this changes the way she feels around Anna nor the way they interact with each other.

The cafeteria is spacious. At the peak of its lunch rush, it is boasting with students and faculty alike. Some are passively battling for a seat at a table and some have simply given up, taking their food some other place where they don't have to rub elbows with a stranger. Elsa buys a Mocha for Anna and a Cappuccino for herself under the pretense that the redhead has already invested her time by coming all the way over here. In reality, Elsa wants to return Anna's gesture with something, even if it's as simple as buying her coffee. She feels as though Anna has been so thoughtful this whole time by dedicating a poem, inviting her to the bar, visiting her at school, that she feels like she's not putting as much effort as she probably could.

They find a bench by the lawn where they can sit and talk while they finish their drinks. They sip slowly, both knowing that once their coffees are gone, Anna will have to head back to her own campus.

Time ticks slowly as they talk about both their classes, who their favorite teachers are and who's already giving them a hard time. Elsa gives her more details about why she makes the journey all the way to Queens once a week and about the nursing home she started visiting almost a year ago after a class project that ended up having a more significant meaning than just a good grade. Besides Rapunzel, Elsa doesn't have anyone else in her life with whom conversation can flow so easily and with Anna, the more they share, the more captivated she becomes. Because not only does she find Anna extremely beautiful and stupefyingly hot, but she's also witty and smart, humble and gentle; everything Elsa needed in a person without ever knowing she was looking for it.

She lets Anna ask more questions about her classes, which she indulges in answering until she is too engrossed in her conversation that she misses the person that soon emerges from behind Anna's shoulder.

_Oh, no, no, no._

Before she can come up with a rational reason to ignore her, the girl is already walking up to them with a feigned look of surprise in her face.

"Well, well, if it isn't the ice majesty herself!" 

Of all people Elsa could have expected to run into, this girl was the last one in her mind. 

A brunette with a bad case of self-righteousness if you were to ask Elsa. One who's been trying to score a date with her ever since she found her earlier that year reading alone in the dining hall. Elsa couldn't, and wouldn't, deny Tracy's physical appeal. She has the mystical features of a bohemian gypsy and the sensual air of a vixen, and more often than not people turn their heads to take a second look as she passes by. But none of this appeals to Elsa. She is smug, provocative and obnoxiously confident, and Elsa always dreads running into her because it means having to deal each time with something similar to what is unfolding right now. 

"Hi, I'm Tracy," she says as she extends her hand for Anna to shake.

"Anna."

"What brings you all the way over here?" She is nodding in disdain at Anna's sweatshirt, as if she were establishing the obvious fact that Anna is a foreigner in Columbia grounds.

"Her ice majesty," she deadpans.

Tracy snickers, not missing the dry mockery in her answer. "Looks like I've got competition then."

"I'm sorry?"

"I already told you, Tracy, I'm not interested in dating anyone right now," Elsa says before the brunette can give a response.

The brunette smirks, "That's because you haven't gone out with me."

Anna's humorless chuckle interrupts the exchange. "Don't you think it's a bit pretentious to assume that she would want to go out with you even if she was?" Her eyebrow is arched in defiance but she seems to be just as insulted by the insinuation that Elsa would want anything to do with this girl.

"Not as pretentious as _you_ believing the same—"

_"Enough."_

Elsa's anger flares up in a single word. There is no way she will let her treat Anna like that, let alone pretend to have any control on a decision that is solely hers. Both girls are thrown back by Elsa's sudden reaction but while Anna looks remorseful, Tracy appears impressed. This stirs in Elsa another surge of animosity that is filtered through cold sternness in her voice, causing her to stand up until she's eye to eye with the brunette.

"I really hope this is the last time I have to tell you that I'm not interested in anything you have to offer. I don't find you attractive and, frankly, I don't like you. You were smart enough to be admitted in here so I'm expecting you to be smart enough not to approach me the next time you see me."

Tracy begins to back off with her hands up in a gesture of rendition. She provides her with a look that is half smugness, half arousal, leaving Elsa with a shaky desire to slap it off her face. 

She leaves soon after and Elsa misses the look of awe in Anna's face.

"Okay, well I was notexpecting _that_ when I woke up this morning."

Elsa groans before sitting back down and covering her face with the hand that isn't holding the now empty cup. "I'm sorry. I don't know why this girl keeps pushing it," she mumbles. When she uncovers her face Anna is looking at her with a sympathetic smile. "It seems like the more I repel her the harder she tries."

"It's called being an asshole."

Elsa giggles a little at this. "I just wish you didn't have to deal with that." 

She shrugs. "Nothing I can't handle. Besides, I'm not the one who has to see her often. I worry that she'll be insisting when clearly you're not interested."

"I don't see her often. She's not a med student and I don't think I've ever seen her inside a library."

That much is true. Elsa isn't even sure if the girl goes to school here or if she's just wandering the halls looking for a hook up.

What begins with a snort soon erupts into full laughter from Anna, who is unable for a few moments to explain the sudden outburst to a bewildered Elsa. 

"Oh God, she's such a bitch," she says between laughs. "But you... I swear I never imagined you could be that scary."

"She got on my nerves, I couldn't help it."

"Well remind me to never get on your nerves."

Elsa grins despite still feeling the residuals of her anger manifesting themselves through her shaky hands. It hadn't been Tracy's overt confidence that did it, but her irreverence towards Anna. It is then that she realizes, as she gazes at the still chuckling girl sitting by her side, that the cause of her reaction was protectiveness and an even greater fondness than the one Elsa had recognized before.

Soon afterwards, Anna looks down at her cup of coffee, lifts it up and gives it a shake. She pouts; it is empty.

And so begins the moment Elsa dreads.

"Let's not turn this into a habit," she says a few seconds after they stand up. Anna looks at her curiously. "This whole not seeing each other for weeks at a time." 

She is dead serious when she says this. It doesn't suit her well and she has a feeling it doesn't do wonders for Anna either; hence the girl showing up unannounced.

They're exiting through the main gate of the campus. It is now early afternoon and the place has thinned down significantly now that most courses are done. The lazy hours of the day, Elsa always thinks. In Spain they would be getting ready for a nice siesta right about now. She wishes she could be in Spain. Even better: in Spain with Anna.

"So are you?" Anna asks as they wait for the crossing light to turn green. 

"Hmm?"

"Not interested in dating anyone?" 

_Good God look at her._ Anna has both her hands deep into the pockets of her sweatshirt and she is biting her lip while she tries to look everywhere else but at Elsa. Could she really be so unsure about their interactions that she feels the need to ask this? Elsa is not interested in anyone except for _her_.

"I only say it so that she'll leave me alone. I'm not—," how can she phrase this without being so forward? "I wasn't looking... for anyone I mean. I'm not sure if that makes sense. I'm not _not_ interested but if... if it _does_ happen—I'm not against it." Somebody shut her up already. _Like_ that _makes sense. God, Elsa, can you be any more dense?_

Anna practically laughs at her. It seems to relieve some of her tension (at Elsa's expense, thank you very much) so at least there's that. "Jeez. And I thought _I_ was bad at this."

She is appalled for about a second but then Elsa can't really blame Anna for laughing at what she's just said. When they reach the entrance to the subway station they're forced to do their usual dance of step aside-dodge an incoming commuter-apologize for blocking another one. Nobody can stay still in this insanity of a city, and neither can Anna because she seems to be trying to delay their separation as much as she can by fidgeting from one feet to another. To stop her, Elsa recreates the same action she did the first time they met; she grabs her hand.

It succeeds in mellowing Anna's movements but fails to soothe her own racing heart. As a med student, she wonders if this could be tachycardia but as a young woman, she wonders if this could be love. 

_Too early to tell, darling._

"So about what happened the other night," Anna begins, confusing the blonde. Elsa had no longer expected to talk about this today but now Anna wanted to do it right before parting ways? _How fair is that?_ "I know we haven't talked about it, but I still want to make it up to you and I'd love to spend more time just the two of us."

She freezes in expectation. She's not even sure she's blinked at all but her hand seems to be growing bolder without her permission because it's started to play with Anna's fingers.

The redhead looks down at them. "So... what I'm trying to say is that, if you're okay with it, I'd love to take you to dinner. You know, whenever you want or whenever you're free, I'm more than willing to wait."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

Anna braves a look at her. "...Yes."

"You traveled a hundred blocks away from where you live just to ask me out on a date?"

Anna rolls her eyes. "Don't be silly, Elsa, I did that to see you."

Elsa grins. No, she's not silly, she's past that point already. "Okay."

"Oh-kay..?"

"I would love to."

Anna's face splits into a grin as she squeezes Elsa's hand. The blonde wonders how someone can look stunning with a hairdo that looks made while still in bed, tired lines under the eyes and a face bare of make up but Anna succeeds beyond doubt.

"So you tell me when, okay?" She looks reluctantly at the subway entrance, "I really have to go now."

"I will," Elsa promises. 

Anna kisses her cheek then, a delicate brushing of the lips that leaves a soft blush behind. She whispers goodbye and Elsa mirrors it, too caught up in the feeling of the girl's mark on her skin to say anything else. 

For the rest of the day nothing and no one is able to erase the smile off Elsa's face.


	5. The sweetest of things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of your comments bring a huge smile to my face. Special thanks to R_Darkstorm for their advice :)

As time makes way for October the trees begin to welcome the change of color on its leaves while the days become shorter and the soothing breeze of summer slowly turns cooler. Fall in New York is a sight thousands of people fly in to witness, for while Central Park turns a majestic shade of yellows, browns and oranges, the sunsets viewed from the Hudson are as vivid as bright, fresh paint over canvas. The season makes way for a renewed sense of energy throughout the city as its inhabitants strip of the weariness of the humid heat and don baggy sweaters while sipping oversized coffees. The ubiquitous foliage carries the mood of the fall, but this isn't the main reason behind Anna's extreme elation.

It is her date with Elsa today.

Ever since they agreed on the day (post-midterms because Anna doesn't want to distract the erudite that is Elsa) she's been in a mood that can only compare to the one she gets into every year before her birthday. It affects her entire routine. Her smiles are more genuine at work, her steps are lighter at school. Even her writing has gotten a bit of a boost in the past few days that Anna's been milking to the point of exploit. And it all comes down to the fact that she's got her hopes higher than the tallest skyscraper in New York City, that this date with Elsa will be nothing short of incredible. Because she finally has everything planned for it to go this way after nearly giving herself a headache trying to find a place where they could talk, like in a restaurant, but also not have to finish the evening with a check on the table. So the High Line it was: the food, the gardens, the scenery at night, the long walkways, and then... well, whatever it was to happen then, Anna would welcome it.

Only a few more hours to go.

While she makes her way home after a short shift at work Anna starts thinking of how atrocious her last experience with dating came out to be. It had been the girl who kept glancing at her during their poetry class with a pair of green eyes she found only slightly captivating. Lucy was her name. A girl pretty in her own right. She asked her out after class one day and Anna felt too flattered to turn her down. Granted, the girl could carry a conversation from the very beginning. That is, until she continued rambling on and on and started to make Anna feel as moronic as the hopes of dating her ever were. It should have been considered a talent on itself because the girl had been verbose and showy, not smarter than Anna and certainly not smarter than Elsa, who tended to speak like a little eminence whenever she explained something, all without the talent of making Anna feel duller than a post light.

She greets Mr. Nap when she arrives at her building and gets a small grunt in response. She giggles. Not even the manager who probably now hates her for all the times he's had to open the door for her can ruin her mood.

Her apartment on the third floor is one of those shoe boxes half of the New York population lives in. But she's come to terms with it because it is her shoe box and she gets to decorate it however she wants. Sure, she gets a little lonely, but there's always Mrs. Ginsberg who lives across the hall with her five cats and Kristoff who has the tendency of showing up unannounced half of the time. And Mr. Nap, but Mr. Nap hates her now. She should probably make amends. But more on that later. Right now she has to tidy up and get ready for her date with a girl prettier than Aphrodite and mightier than Athena.

_Alright. Chill_.

She feels so foolishly giddy she's now regretting that last cup of coffee she had before clocking out of work. It's starting to hit her good. Although perhaps she could use this to her advantage because there's no time to lose here.

She gets on with the tidying, which pretty much consists of tossing the clothes that belong to the laundry basket in the laundry basket. The small kitchen doesn't take her long because cooking for one tends to require the bare minimum: eggs, pasta, cereals, repeat. Obviously, Anna is no chef. Then comes the making of the bed, which her mother always insisted had to be as crisp as the ones in a hotel, but her mother isn't here nor is Anna in a hotel so... What matters is that her minty green covers look comfy enough. For two people, maybe?

_Easy tiger. You didn't want to kiss her at the bar but now you wanna have her in your bed after the first date?_

"Right."

As soon as she's done she sorts through her music so that it can play while she gets ready. She has little less than two hours before she needs to meet with Elsa; just enough time to complete her routine if she wants to get distracted with made up choreography that the world will never be lucky enough to witness.

She showers to the rhythm of Billie Jean. A badly thought-out plan from the very beginning because the shampoo she is using as a microphone slips from her hands and almost makes her slip to her death. That goes without further mentioning the horrifying seconds where the soap gets in her eyes after she tries to mirror Michael's iconic moves.

Regardless, she makes it out of the shower alive and her spirits remain high.

She slips on her comfiest panties (the black, cheeky ones with bananas on them) and the black, unlined lace bra she reserves for special occasions (not that many). While she lets her hair dry with the towel wrapped atop her head she pulls out of her closet the outfit she's decided on. Her best jeans make it casual but the small cleavage on her forest green top makes it sexy without being skimpy. It's the same top she found once in a Brooklyn thrift store during a shopping spree she'd dragged Kristoff to, its satin-like fabric standing out from the old cotton and flannel shirts she kept finding there. The fact that it only cost her twenty bucks makes it all the more precious.

After she's put on her top another Michael Jackson song makes its way through her shuffling list, and this time, there is nothing around Anna that she can risk her life with. She's let her semi-wet hair down so that she can start drying it but the music has started to become too distracting.

_So get closer_

_To my body now_

_Just love me_

_'Til you don't know how_

She grabs her brush and, pantless, begins to dance and sing her joyous heart out.

_Keep on with the force don't stop_

_Don't stop 'til you get enough_

She is jumping around, kicking à la Jackson, her wet hair flying about as she moves her hips to the rhythm of the beat.

"Touch me and I feel on fire. Ain't nothing like a love desire!"

She is pointing at an invisible person in her room, thinking of Elsa as she sings this. Her good mood is reaching to the sky at this point. She is undeterrable.

Until she looks at the time.

"Oh shit!"

Anna has thirty minutes to get ready now, so she lets the music go on without her while she puts on her jeans, half-asses the drying of her hair and applies a touch of makeup on her face. Her leather jacket comes last. She's decided to do a half ponytail because she has no time to do anything else, although when she glances at herself in the mirror before leaving her place, she feels happy with the outcome.

She sends a quick text to Elsa to let her know she is on her way before she takes a look at the address Elsa sent a few days prior. The blonde lives right on the edge of the East Village so all Anna has to do is take the L line east to 3rd Avenue and walk a few blocks south to 6th Street. Easy peasy. Not even Anna and her appalling sense of direction can screw this one up.

At nearly 7 o'clock the sun has already set, starting to make way for a more vivacious crowd flocking the artsy streets of the neighborhood. The building Elsa lives in is the typical flat brick with a fire escape facing the front. Its ground floor isn't constructed to be a lobby, but rather a bodega that says Funky Town on its bright yellow awning. The real entrance, the one that leads to actual people living in actual apartments, is right next to it. Anna types in the door code she's reread from Elsa's text before she makes her way to the second floor. She is finally being hit with a shaky nervousness she has to ease by counting steps and breathing through her nose because, if she doesn't, there is a high chance she'll end up squealing when she sees the blonde.

Mild relief is what greets her, though, when Rapunzel is the one to open the door (she squeals a little anyway).

The brunette doesn't make a show of being excited to see Anna; it is all genuine. She is quick in giving her a one arm hug before warmly welcoming her into the apartment she shares with Elsa. The apartment is bigger than Anna's but not excessively so. Looking in, she doesn't know which of the two open rooms is Elsa's but she has a feeling it is the one on the other side of the tiny living room, considering that the one that's close to her left, by the hallway, has got heaps of clothes on the bed. Somehow, being inside feels like taking another step in the right direction because Anna is now entering the place where Elsa is most at ease. Where she does and acts however she likes, where she cooks, sleeps, and maybe even dances around as well. It feels like a warm welcoming into an even more private side of Elsa that Anna is deeply excited to explore.

Rapunzel is walking her in but leaves her to stand by or sit on the couch so that she can go back to whatever she's cooking on the stove.

"I'm making quesadillas, you want one?"

Before Anna can decline, Elsa steps out of the bathroom to intervene, "It's the only thing she can cook without setting the kitchen on fire," she states.

"That," Rapunzel points with a spatula, "may or may not be true."

The humor in their interaction is there, but Anna's smile is only mildly amused after she is struck by the sight of the girl now making a beeline to greet her. _She really is the most beautiful girl I've ever met._ Elsa is wearing dark jeans that again show the toned muscles of her legs, a white v-neck shirt that reveals a collarbone and a cleavage that Anna will spend the rest of the night salivating over, and a cream cardigan sweater she almost wants to steal because it's just _so damn cute._

When she is close enough, Elsa doesn't go to hug her but instead leans down to give Anna a peck on the cheek. She knows she should be getting used to these kinds of gestures by now but there is no way in hell for it to happen. Every time Elsa gets this close her heart plays tricks that her mind has no control over.

"Hi."

"Hey you," she smiles. "Ready?"

The blonde grabs her purse and the keys lying by the kitchen. "All ready," she says.

"Hey!"

They both turn to look at Rapunzel. "I want her back by eleven," she warns.

"Don't listen to her," Elsa mumbles as she begins urging Anna back towards the door. She yells goodbye at her cousin and rushes to get the two of them outside before the girl can come up with more embarrassing things to say. The mortification showing through the blonde's red cheeks makes Anna giggle all the way down to the street.

* * *

The restaurant Anna has chosen for their date is, by the time they arrive, buzzing with patrons high on the thought of the upcoming weekend. Thankfully, she's planned this enough to make a reservation in advance and she almost high-fives the hostess when she sits them in a section that is secluded by a large booth.

On their way here Anna had the chance to fall into her naturally overt personality, but now, sitting at the table, she is starting to feel like she's got to fit in the mold of being in control of where the date goes. It makes her feel so uptight she can barely sit still and even more embarrassing is the fact that Elsa seems like she's started to notice. She can feel the blonde looking at her even though she's staring down at a menu she's not even reading.

"Anna?"

"Hmm?"

"Look at me," Elsa says softly.

When she does, Elsa gazes intently at her. There's the violet shade that brings out the blue in her eyes and the crimson on her lips that Anna finds insanely seductive. She breathes shakily through her nose. _Get a grip, it's just a date!_

"Are you nervous?"

"Plenty," she confesses.

The blonde gives her a look that is both tender and sympathetic before she lifts up her hand to place it across the table, its palm facing up. She is waiting patiently for Anna to take it, which she does, as soon as she's pulled it out of the tight grip her thighs had on it. Looking down at their hands now clasped together she can see just how pale Elsa's is against her own, and how well her hand fits into the curvatures of the blonde's; as if all this time they were meant to fall into place with one another.

The tiny squeeze that pulls her out of her reverie makes her blush. Why must she always get distracted by the small details?

"You know, I'm nervous too."

This surprises her. "Why?"

Elsa shrugs, her thumb ghosting over the back of Anna's hand. "I can't explain it. It just feels... consequential."

Anna smirks slightly at that and nods conclusively. A mirage of words if there ever was one. She wonders if there will ever be a day where they don't choose to tiptoe around the overpowering sentiment that keeps weighing heavily on their relationship.

"Your hand is cold."

"So I've been told," Elsa jokes before she withdraws her hand back onto her lap and straightens herself. It doesn't appear as a defensive gesture; the waiter is approaching them.

The boy's interruption cuts through their conversation but somehow alleviates Anna's nervousness. This, she's done before. She just has to remind herself that Elsa is no longer a stranger. It might be their first official date but Elsa has already seen more sides of her than most people have in the past.

When the waiter leaves with their order Elsa places her forearms on the table before leaning forward. Anna knows she must have done it unintentionally but the way Elsa's chest is pressing lightly against her arms is pushing up her breasts and Anna cannot, for the life of her, stop her eyes from widening.

If Elsa notices this she doesn't let on. "So," she says. "Agatha Christie."

"Agatha Christie is a boss ass bitch." Anna deadpans. Agatha Christie is also a good distraction from those breasts.

Elsa's laughter has never been louder.

They discuss their favorite authors until the food arrives. Anna is fascinated by Elsa's knowledge of books. It is far greater than she expected, to the point where the girl recognizes novels Anna had only heard of until she had to tackle them for her college studies. From Proust to Camus, Márquez, Fitzgerald and even Lao Tzu, the last of whom her most recent date had thought was a martial art. It all seems attributed to the fact that Elsa's father was an avid reader and the way the blonde speaks of him makes Anna believe that this passion was shared from very early on. 

"So let me get this straight," Elsa begins. "You went on a date with someone who thought Lao Tzu was a kind of, what, jiu-jitsu?

Anna can only nod. She's busy trying to slurp the one pasta noodle that refuses to cooperate.

"Where do you find these girls?"

"At school! But she found me, I didn't ask her out."

"Right," she mocks. "Lucky you, I don't attend NYU then."

"And you're not even my age. See? I've upgraded my taste to a more refined one, like good wine."

Elsa points at her with her fork, "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or offended."

Anna is grinning down at her food, "Take it as you wish, m'am."

* * *

The High Line after dusk illuminates every corner of its pathway. This allows for a view of the gardens even at night, something Anna was counting on when she thought this out. What was left unforeseen, however, was how delightful it would feel to walk side by side with Elsa through grasslands filled with prairie and sky blue asters while she keeps shooting question after question about her college, her high school life, her family. Perhaps the thing that is most amusing about this is that Anna has always been pegged as the talkative one; she says just as much as writes what she thinks, and while this may also be the case with the blonde, Anna has found that she enjoys taking up the role of the listener. Because Elsa's answers don't come out in a shambles of words, but instead, they're pondered over in a way that makes Anna, the writer and the girl, always search for more.

"So, why cardiologist?"

"Why did I choose to be a cardiologist?"

"Yeah. Instead of, I don't know, a gynecologist or a pediatrician or something."

Elsa takes her time to consider this. She is beginning to walk slower, not looking at Anna but at the bushes of prairie grass they're surrounded by.

"You know how some people get into medicine after a tragedy?" She begins, "Like how a person may want to become a neurologist after they watch a grandparent deteriorate from Parkinson's or how cancer may run in your family and you're so adamant in preventing it from happening to you that you become an oncologist?"

Anna nods but Elsa is so strangely focused on running her hands through the tall tendrils of grass that she seems to miss it. "Something similar happened to me... My parents got into a car accident, you know that. But only my family knows that while my father died instantly, my mother could have survived."

As if pulled out of a daze she shifts her focus back on Anna, her eyes sober and dry. "She could have made it if it weren't because she had a heart failure that went untreated until it was too late."

So many words of consolation come to Anna's mind, but none are worth saying. She feels as though they've all been so used up during the heavy moments of loss that they no longer carry any meaning beyond cordial sympathy. It hinders her capability to say anything at all and as a result she remains silent. Yet, it is in this silence that she reaches out for Elsa's hand to interlace their fingers together.

For a while, they say nothing. They start heading down to the piers eventually, for no other reason than because that is where their feet have taken them. Unlike the walkway of the High Line, the piers are only dimly lit and scarce of people.

"I should give you a break from my pestering questions, shouldn't I?" Despite her ignorance, Anna feels guilty for having brought out a subject that inevitably fell on the tragedy of her parents' death.

Elsa, however, is rather calm when she looks at the redhead by her side. "They're not pestering. I like your questions."

"You say that now."

"I'll say it always."

It's hard to suppress a smile.

"I almost forgot," Elsa adds, "I brought you something."

She is pulling out of her purse a small object wrapped in a napkin. "I hope it hasn't melted." With the only light coming from the poles lining the pier, Anna is having a hard time deciphering its content. It looks like a rock— _rocks don't melt, genius—okay, but what's lava?!_ —. Then suddenly, a gasp: it's a chocolate truffle.

Anna is biting her lower lip in barely concealed excitement. This woman really knows how to go straight for the heart.

"Okay, but we must share," she says ceremoniously.

"It's just one truffle, how are we supposed to share that?"

"Give it a tiny bite then give me the other half." So easy to say, not as easy to do. Half of its powder ends up smeared on Elsa's fingers when she bites into it, a bite that is about a centimeter in size. She then hands it to Anna as carefully as if she were handling the Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom.

"That's not half."

Elsa rolls her eyes while she sucks her fingertips clean. "You said a tiny bite."

"Not that tiny."

"Darling, eat the truffle."

_Keep calling me that_ , she wants to say. The truffle melts perfectly in her mouth.

Elsa is beginning to lead them back to the main walkway when she notices the pier emptying out, although Anna is nowhere near done moaning in delight.

"I think you've earned the official title of chocolatier in my life," she declares after she's finished savoring every last bit of chocolate.

The blonde chuckles, "It's an honor, milady."

"Hmm, oui, oui, you la chocolatière officielle de my cœur." Her fake Parisian accent and the curling of an invisible moustache are downright blasphemous, but if it makes Elsa laugh in the midst of a gloomy mood then she's more than willing to brave the rage of a thousand Napoleonic armies.

"You speak French now?"

"No, I just watch a lot of French films." She then jumps on an unoccupied bench and begins treading on it like a walker on a tightrope. "Okay, I've got another question!"

"Anna, you're going to fall from there."

"There's no way I can be that clumsy, Elsa. It's a bench not a tightro—woah." She's lost her balance for a second. "Okay. Maybe I can."

Elsa covers her lips but laughter slips through as soft as a melody. "Come here," she says, extending her hand for Anna to take.

"You jinxed it," she huffs.

Anna concedes easily though, because it gives her the excuse to hold onto Elsa's hand. However, the air between them changes the moment Elsa starts to gently pull her off the bench with a fixed expression on her face. While she carefully steps down, she can briefly see from the corner of her eye a lone man jogging before she glances at the view of Lower Manhattan against the darkened sky. Its bright, towering presence seems almost auspicious for this moment. Because that's all it is; a gradual event in which Elsa guides Anna with her left hand to where she can stand safely between the railing of the pathway and herself. They're caught in a memory that will exist forever in their minds, developing slowly and with intricate detail each and every time. For as soon as Anna's back bumps with metal, she cups her face, searching perhaps for a sign of hesitation that she will never find. In an instant, Anna sees tenderness flash through those crystal blue eyes before Elsa leans in to kiss her for the first time.

The softness of Elsa's lips against her own surprises her with a sigh. It is so gentle, so hesitant, that it only manages to awaken a greater desire from deep within, driving her to grasp at anything that will allow her to pull Elsa closer to her. The taller girl gives in easily when Anna holds on to her hips, inching her whole body closer while she deepens the kiss by cradling Anna's face with both hands. They separate for a second to look at each other. Elsa's eyes are glinting with affection while her chest rises and falls to the rhythm of Anna's rapid heart. It could be a scene from her dreams for all Anna knows, because there is no way a kiss can possibly feel this good.

It is a gesture of everything they've had pent up from the very first moment they met; a mixture of desire, a need to be closer; the hunger to discover each other as their lips connect again and again, each time with more wanton, more passion. And when Elsa's tongue graces her lower lip, Anna gives it all; melts in the arms that are now holding her closely from the waist while she snakes her own around the girl's neck. Elsa tastes of the chocolate they've shared and the mint she's popped afterwards. She threads her fingers through the soft blond hairs that grow at the nape of her neck, and quivers from the warmth of Elsa's tongue dancing with her own. With the railing pressing on her lower back and Elsa's entire body flushed against her front, Anna's mind goes hazy. She sighs again into her mouth.

They separate after a period of time Anna cannot determine, until they've laid their passion bare between them and she's felt the exhilaration of Elsa's kisses send a rush of arousal straight down to her center.

And for some reason, she feels like sobbing. She wants to let go of the pressure that is forming in her chest at the overwhelming sensation coursing through her veins; this shaky realization that what she's just shared with Elsa has overpowered everything she has ever felt before. It feels more intimate than sex, more momentous than a first kiss. Can you go back from a moment like this? The answer is, you can't. Anna feels branded by Elsa's lips and unbeknownst to her, every day, for days to come, she will close her eyes and reminisce their taste.

But for now, she hugs her, burying her head into the soft space between shoulder and neck. Elsa cradles her in her arms, kissing her temple, her head, the curvature of her ear, anything she can reach in their position. And she sways. To what, Anna has no clue, because there is no music anywhere near and no sound except for the gentle flapping of water against rock. She welcomes it profoundly nonetheless and allows Elsa to sway them until she's calmed down.

"I wanted to go slow," she whispers after a while. Her breath expands hotly against the skin of Elsa's neck.

The girl stops swaying before she breaks the embrace enough to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"At the bar. That's what I wanted to tell you. I was so close to just kissing you right there but we were both half drunk and nearly fondling each other. I didn't want it to happen like that." When no answer comes from the blonde, she feels the need to add: "Is that too cheesy?"

"It's perfect," she breathes, chasing her lips.

When their kiss breaks, Anna speaks out again, "What does it say about us that we've already kissed on our first date?"

"That it was long due."

Another kiss. Languid this time; enough to steal Anna's breath and make her forget everything else she wanted to say.

* * *

She gets home close to midnight due to a variety of reasons. One is that the L train she had to take from Elsa's place to her own took thirty minutes to arrive (nothing new there). The other, and more significant one, is that she just couldn't stop kissing Elsa. It kept happening: in small pecks as they waited for the train to take the blonde home, in the middle of the stairs that led to her apartment on the second floor and then, by her door, over and over again, obliterating every muttered 'goodbye' for what felt like not enough time.

"Please let me know when you get home," Elsa had mumbled once against her lips.

And she does, as soon as she arrives home, feeling lighter than a feather and heading straight towards the writing journal she keeps on her bedside.

It is full of scribbles and half-finished ideas. But there, on a new page meant for a new beginning, she starts with a single sentence:

_Is there anything sweeter than two souls slowly discovering each other?_

Anna is not sure there is. Nothing at all.


	6. Falling in the darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and the comments!!

"Elsa, stop, I'm gonna die."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am. Do you see the steam coming out of my mouth? That's my soul leaving my body. These could be my last words and I'm wasting them on useless explanations."

"Okay, hold on."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm looking up a funeral home."

Anna tackles her then, rendering her arms useless as she holds on to her with mighty strength. 

Elsa laughs. "I thought you were dying!"

"I changed my mind," she mumbles against her neck. "Just please, _please_ don't make me run anymore!"

"If you let me go I promise I'll consider it." With Anna leaning her entire weight on the blonde, there's really not much she can do other than prevent the two of them from hitting the floor.

"I'll free your arms only." 

"Why?"

"So that you can hug me, silly. I'm cold."

"You just ran a mile, how can you be cold?" She knows this is meant to rile her up. It wasn't a mile, and Anna was barely running. Although these facts do nothing to stop her from embracing the redhead when she is finally allowed to use her arms. Their position is unusual, though, for while she has her arms around the redhead's shoulders, Anna is still clinging to her waist. Now that they've fully stopped, the air coming from the Hudson river is hitting them without impediment. Even for a month like November in this city, it is reasonably chilly, which is why Elsa makes them switch positions in a few, swift movements, making her back face the river so that it can protect the redhead from the harder blows of the wind.

Anna inches impossibly closer before tightening her grasp around her waist. "You're the doctor, you should know more about the wonders of the human body." 

"I'm not a doctor yet, sweetheart."

"How much longer 'til you become one?" The warmth grazing the skin of her neck with every word Anna mumbles is giving Elsa a hard time focusing.

"Long enough." 

"Hurry up, then. I need free medical care."

Elsa snorts. The things this girl says sometimes... 

She kisses the side of Anna's head just because she can. An action that most would find foreign in relation to her character. Yes, it is all true, when people assign her the role of a cold persona. It isn't shyness, nor reluctance, it just simply doesn't fall within her nature to be so affectionate, which is somewhat of a curse when she lives in a world that embraces sociability and extroversion. And even though the people she loves know that her demonstrations come in quieter, less physical gestures—like the act of listening and being present that Elsa is highly aware has become more and more absent in people's lives—, this is exactly what makes the contrast between the way she is around others and the way she is around Anna all the more evident. Because Anna and warmth, both literally and figuratively, come together. Figuratively, because Elsa finds comfort in the presence of her, a soothing calm that is almost sedative. And literally as well, because Anna is just so damn warm all the time and while Elsa doesn't _feel_ cold, she knows that more often than not, she feels cold to the touch. She could go through the medical reasons that can stand behind it (an action that is becoming more and more habitual) like metabolism and circulation. But none will ever be poetic enough, nor enough of an explanation for the delight that it is to feel Anna's soothing skin against her own. Because with Anna, every time they touch, Elsa feels like melting; like ice beneath a summer sun.

After a few moments, the redhead steps away from her arms but her hand chooses to remain interlaced with Elsa's. It seems as though Anna is taking advantage of the blonde's apparent distraction to lead them towards the street and away from the prospect of any more running.

This had all started because of Anna in the first place. She had wanted to flirt with Elsa the day before; something that ended up with grave repercussions for the poor girl when Elsa convinced her that she should start running with her to have legs as toned as hers. A lie, really. Anna has an incredible body from head to toe, but this has given them both an excuse to spend more time together after their first date two weeks ago. And while ever since then the two have started to develop a greater commitment in seeing each other more often, between work and classes, it just wasn't enough. Hence the unprecedented morning run for Anna and the free entertainment for Elsa. 

The morning is predictable with its hustle. Cars speed back and forth on the road that outlines the entire island of Manhattan, a road which they now find themselves crossing hand in hand. However, when Anna finds herself still shivering from the cold, she leans into Elsa and welcomes the arm that throws itself protectively around her shoulders while she does the same around the blonde's waist.

"By the way, do you think we can stop by that place with the really good chocolate cake?"

"Why? Are you trying to get another girl's attention?"

A gasp. "So that's why you did it!"

Elsa laughs but does not give an answer to this. Instead, she asks: "You want to go right now?"

"No, we can go another time. But soon. I want to give it to Mr. Nap. He's angry with me."

"Mr. Nap your manager?"

"Yeah... The last time I left my keys inside the apartment he got very angry because I interrupted his nap. Ironic, huh?"

"You can't just interrupt people's naps, Anna."

"He was doing it during office hours, how is that my fault?"

"Okay, point taken."

They stop by a coffee shop on Greenwich before they have to go their separate ways: Elsa has class at noon while Anna wants to head home to try to get some writing done before she has to go to work. The café is quaint and awfully busy for such a place that seems straight up carved into the wall. Its radio station is playing Mariah Carey's Christmas album and if it wasn't because it is the closest shop to the train station, that alone would have made Elsa flee.

"So I know it's still a couple of weeks away," Elsa says as they wait in line, "But I wanted to ask you, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?"

Anna is scanning the scribbled menu hanging off the wall and finishes making her choice before she looks at the blonde. "Well, I've always managed to skip Thanksgiving with my parents so usually I just stay here, with whomever ends up not going back home. So mostly Kristoff and Eugene."

Elsa hums.

"Why?"

"We're going to Rapunzel's house for Thanksgiving," she replies. "I don't feel like going but it's a thing we've been doing since we both moved here."

And she _really_ doesn't want to go now that she knows Anna will be staying in the city.

"But since we're both leaving we were thinking that maybe you guys could come over for dinner. You know, Eugene and you, Kristoff can come too, of course." It'll be a bit crammed but they can always make it work.

The redhead is already looking excited. "Like a friendsgiving?"

"Is that what you kids call it nowadays?"

Anna giggles, bumping her forehead against the taller girl's shoulder. She walks her fingers over the underside of her forearm, slowly travelling down until she can weave them with Elsa's.

"That would be nice."

The coffee they order and receive faster than they both expect feels like a small reward. Through Elsa's point of view, it is for running at least thirty minutes, for Anna it is to have waken up this early. Looked at it this way, it was indeed a successful morning.

"Okay so I'll let you know when, but it'll most likely be next weekend," Elsa tells her as they linger outside the coffee shop.

"Yes, cap!" Anna salutes. A funny sight, in fact, because she's taking that job seriously while her freckled nose and cheeks are red from the cold and her hair is slightly disheveled from the little run she had. "So let's do this again, maybe?"

Elsa looks at her incredulously, "I thought you almost died."

"Are you kidding? I could run for hours! I was only pretending to stay back because I was enjoying the view."

It takes a few seconds for the meaning to dawn on Elsa but when it does, Anna's mischievous grin is already spreading through her face. Once again, the redhead's succeeded: she can feel herself blushing. At this point it seems safe to admit that the girl's flirty comments keep getting bolder with each attempt she makes. _What's next? A spank?_ This is exactly the kind of comments that get Anna in trouble; like running at eight in the morning on a weekday. The blonde, unfortunately, is an inept at flirting so for lack of a better comeback she leans in to kiss her. What starts with a peck quickly deepens when Anna chases after Elsa's lips. The feeling that spreads through her body is a feeling she has yet to get used to.

When Anna steps back she is still smiling.

They part ways soon after that, though not without a struggle. While Anna walks away first, she leaves obliviously behind a girl that's been left tongue-tied. Is it too early still, to think that a mere goodbye is no longer enough? There is a thought that is cautiously making its way from the back of Elsa's mind to the very forefront of her consciousness, a thought that she is not unwilling to recognize, but one she isn't sure should be admitted out loud yet. To say it would be to rush into it. But why should words be so heavy sometimes? Even when these words carry a meaning that makes one feel as lighthearted as one does when they're in love?

* * *

What is Thanksgiving if not for a gluttony fest dressed in a costume made of gratitude and good will? This is exactly what Elsa thinks when she takes a horrified look at the heaps of food taking over the small counter of their kitchen. Granted, there will be two grown men joining them this evening, but she is still rightfully disturbed at the amount of dishes she and Rapunzel have ended up cooking practically all day. She's not even sure they will all taste good; she stopped trying them after the homemade mac and cheese because she'd gotten full by just tasting samples. But they look decent enough, even though half of the dishes they've ended up improvising from online recipes. Rapunzel had even tried her hand at the buttermilk biscuits because she's a sucker for anything buttery, but the fire alarm went off before she could even conclude that their time in the oven was done. Meanwhile, the pasta is the only thing Elsa's drawn from memory since it was her mother's favorite, but everything else has been concocted by their inexperienced hands—the green bean casserole, the mashed potatoes, the stuffing, the cranberry sauce and, of course, the goddamn turkey. The apotheosis of Thanksgiving; the thing which nightmares are made of. It is the first time Elsa has ever attempted to cook a turkey and it is surely the last. She'd rather have KFC at every Thanksgiving for the rest of her life than have to cook something as fussy and stressful as that poor bird. And all of this for what? For the purpose of impressing a girl she's grown incredibly fond of. Because she knows by now how much Anna loves food and Elsa is determined to give her both a satisfying dinner and a memorable Thanksgiving; the first of what she dares to hope will be many to come.

Rapunzel is manifesting in actions what Elsa is dealing with internally. She has already rushed back and forth twice between the bathroom and her room like a headless chicken mumbling words Elsa isn't sure are meant for her. Reasonably so, their three guests will be arriving together, and they will be arriving soon, which is why Elsa is internally freaking out by double-checking every single aspect of the dinner they've set up in the kitchen and arranging for the fifth time the cushions in their living room.

Why her cousin begins clapping rapidly as soon as she is done getting ready is not something Elsa tries to justify, not even after she rushes to her side when she's about to finally take a seat. She's a strange girl, this one.

"Oh my God, hug me."

"What, why?" She is already hugging the brunette, albeit confused.

Rapunzel looks like she's high on something. "I am so excited!"

"Did you take your crazy pills this morning?" She jokes.

"I forgot, you had me working on the turkey since the moment I opened my eyes."

Elsa laughs, "That was at around noon anyways."

They are high indeed, on nothing but good feelings. Because even though the last Thursday of November isn't here yet, this feels like a Thanksgiving that is very much their own. There are no parents that have forced them to set the table nor relatives they're less than half excited to see, no pretensions and no dinner formalities. This is a reunion they are hosting in their very own home, with food they've prepared with their very own hands and with people they're happy to be around. If this is what independence looks like, then Elsa will gladly take it.

She never gets to sit though, because after their spontaneous moment of excitement there is a knock on the door.

And who opens it, of course? Rapunzel. She's already skipped to the door by the time Elsa is done stepping around their coffee table. When she arrives at the end of the hallway Rapunzel is finishing hugging Anna, who is standing between Eugene and Kristoff. She allows her cousin to let them in first, recognizing the awkwardness that would be greeting everyone with hugs by the entrance of their apartment. They've all showed up in their best attire, with the boys in their button downs and dark pants and Anna in a cream-colored dress that matches the season. She hugs Eugene first, then Kristoff, who reservedly thanks her for inviting him when she didn't necessarily have to. As soon as the two start being led by her cousin (a superb host already) to the kitchen, Elsa turns her undivided attention to the redhead.

Anna greets her with a gentle kiss before Elsa tells her: "You look beautiful."

"You don't think I'm a little overdressed?" Anna asks shyly. She is looking down at her own attire and Elsa can sense her self-consciousness in the action.

"Not at all. You're a head-turner."

It renders the girl speechless. Then, a blush. 

Elsa might not be good at flirting, but she manages on her own.

The scene unfolding inside the cramped kitchen is already a disturbance by the time Elsa leads Anna there by the hand, if one can picture two bulky men ogling the food and a short brunette looking everywhere for enough space to place the pie they've brought over as well as the beers they intend to start drinking as soon as possible. For a while, it is nothing but commotion—a description of the dishes they spent all day preparing and the talks of how the two boys met up at Anna's because she took the longest to get ready—, until they finally agree to have a drink before settling down to eat. Anna takes a beer with her to the couch but is reluctant to enjoy it when Elsa has opted for drinking water. The main reason behind this choice is that she is craving the red wine that's sitting inside the wall cabinet, but doesn't want to drink it by herself. She would have offered some to Anna but the girl was too fast at opening the beer; she will have to wait.

The furniture that occupies the girls' living room is big enough to accommodate all except one, which is why Elsa's taken out the butterfly chair that's in her room to finally put it to use. They end up initiating a conversation between everyone that scatters into small topics. Given the way they're sat, with Elsa, Anna and Rapunzel taking over the loveseat, Kristoff sitting on the armchair and Eugene sprawled with more familiarity over the petite chair, it isn't too hard for Elsa to ask something to the girl by her side while Kristoff and Eugene entertain Rapunzel with a story of the time they lost a bet and later got caught inside the cafeteria trying to steal the turkey the staff had prepared for Thanksgiving.

"Have you talked to your parents lately?" Elsa asks in a lowered voice. The topic of the redhead's parents is rarely brought up, but Elsa has some experience with the feelings of nostalgia that surge with the proximity of the holidays and she wants to make sure Anna has someone to talk to if she needs to do so.

"This morning, actually. We had a video call but it was the usual formalities. They always just ask about work and school, then remind me that writing is a starving man's job and finish by telling me that they miss me." 

"Don't they insist on you visiting for Thanksgiving?"

She shrugs. "I come up with good excuses. Plus, they've turned the break into some kind of romantic getaway, so most of the time they don't even spend it at home."

That seems to be the end of the topic for Anna and so it is, too, for Elsa. If the girl is detached enough that she doesn't wish to delve into the conversation she's had with her parents then Elsa is tactful enough to let it be. Instead, she distracts Anna with little tales of today's preparation, like how they had to open every window in the apartment after Rapunzel burned the biscuits and how she is standing by her promise of never cooking another turkey from scratch. All the while Elsa is relishing in the fact that she is making Anna laugh, something that, generally speaking, she isn't very good at. They talk and drink until everyone declares being ready for dinner.

Self-serving makes everyone's lives easier and Elsa wonders why she ever even considered that the two of them would be the ones serving their guests. After the boys and Rapunzel leave with their food and Anna is ready to reach into the fridge for another beer, Elsa speaks out.

"Do you like wine?"

Anna peeks at her from behind the door. "I don't drink much of it. Isn't it an acquired taste?"

"That's what posh people say to keep us mortals from enjoying it as much as they do."

She reaches over to the cabinet before pulling out the bottle of wine she's bought for this occasion. Lambrusco is her favorite and in being exactly that, she has the wish to share it with Anna. She skillfully opens the bottle by swiftly twisting the opener and popping out the cork. Then she stretches over to grab two of the three wine glasses they keep on the top drawer, her white shirt riding up as she does, before pouring a small quantity that she hands to the redhead, "Here, try this one."

Anna takes the glass, holding it by the bowl with an obvious lack of etiquette. She holds it up to her nose and gives it a dubious sniff that makes Elsa chuckle. "I'm not trying to poison you."

"A lady can never be too sure," she teases. The sip is so small Elsa wants to roll her eyes but, nevertheless, it seems to do the job because Anna looks impressed. "Well, okay. I could get used to this." She takes another sip, finishing the sample. "I could be the next Hemingway."

"Didn't he used to drink martinis?" Elsa asks her as she pours a more generous amount this time.

Anna swirls the wine in her glass snobbishly before she embodies the role of a connoisseur in a vineyard: "Semantics, dahling."

The girl pops out characters faster than a vending machine and Elsa sometimes wonders if it is because she is training to be a writer or because she's just quirky like that. Either way, she finds it infinitely amusing.

After Elsa is done putting the sealed bottle back on the counter Anna halts the rest of her actions. She tugs at the same button-up shirt that's revealed the skin of her hips only minutes ago, effectively drawing Elsa in until she is close enough to be kissed. In the confines of the kitchen, although knowing the occupants of the living room can still see them, she places her hand over the small of Anna's back, capturing the girl's lower lip between her own. The kiss lasts enough seconds to make her sigh and only breaks thanks to the whistle that's come from Eugene.

"If the two lovebirds will care to join us now. Some of us are polite enough to wait for everyone before eating and, frankly, I'm mad hungry cause I starved all day in preparation for this."

Anna is unapologetic enough for the two of them. "You look really good in that shirt," she whispers before they make their way back to the living room.

Elsa doesn't stop blushing until after her first bite.

"This is so good," Kristoff mumbles through the food in his mouth. Hums of agreement fill the room.

"It better be," Rapunzel warns, "Elsa turned into a goddamn dictator. I was practically her slave all day."

"You make it sound like I chained you to the kitchen."

"Emotional chains can be just as damaging."

"Dude, that's a real thing. My ex was a bit psycho like that," Kristoff adds.

Anna chuckles. "Your ex was a psycho in every way, Kristoff."

"Was that the girl that snuck into the campus once and almost punched Anna because she thought you two were hooking up?"

"Yup."

Elsa looks appalled, "She did _what?_ "

"Oh damn," whispers Rapunzel.

"She almost punched Anna," Kristoff repeats, "the girl was crazy possessive but wanting to go after Anna was a whole other level of psycho."

"You forget to mention she also tried to hit _on_ Anna, like months before that happened," Eugene adds.

Both Anna and Kristoff groan. Elsa is flabbergasted at this point but Rapunzel is the one who jumps in at the chance to say: "Maybe that's the real reason why she wanted a beat-down, she wanted to see what it was like to have Anna on top."

Kristoff snorts so hard he almost spews out the beer he's sipping on while Eugene nearly tumbles out of the chair from laughing. Anna is mortified but still manages to get a laugh out of it. Now, Elsa... not even a giggle escapes her; she is beet red. She makes a mental note to get back at her cousin for this lewd comment, especially because Rapunzel has now drilled into her mind the image of Anna in a _very_ compromising position, one that becomes so vivid against her will that she becomes flustered and more than a little aroused. This only exacerbates her embarrassment and Elsa fails utterly at hiding it even after Anna's had enough sympathy in her heart to try to appease her with a kiss on her reddened cheek.

There is no other way out of this than moving forward, and Elsa does just that, by stuffing her face with enough food to make her want to barf. The rest find themselves in a similar situation an hour later, nursing their food comas and sipping drinks that don't do much to alleviate bloated stomachs.

Kristoff offers to help with the dishes after announcing that he must head out but Elsa insists against it. He is, however, allowed to help with putting the leftovers away after Elsa saves some in a Tupperware for him to take home. The boy is not only protective, but also obliging and kind, and Elsa can easily see why he would be such close friends with Anna. 

When the two are done in the kitchen, Kristoff goes back to the comatose group so that he can hug Rapunzel goodbye, bump Eugene's fist and plant a kiss on Anna's head. Elsa offers to walk him to the door. 

"You know," he starts while the blonde leads him through the hallway, "I've been meaning to tell you, I'm really happy that you two found each other."

Boy, is she too. "I kind of have the two of you to thank for that." The door is left open for Kristoff to step through but he lingers a while so that he can put on his jacket.

"So are you guys together, together now?"

"Like in a relationship?" Now _that_ is a good question. Elsa wants to say that they are but looking back at the last few weeks, none have stated the obvious, not even in between the countless make-out sessions they've already shared. 

In her hesitation Kristoff finds an answer. He grins knowingly, "I think you are, but just ask her. The girl's cheesy like that."

He goes to hug her before thanking her again for inviting him, his kind brown eyes shining with unspoken esteem. Yes, she decides, Elsa does like him. It brings comfort along with the possibility that perhaps he, too, could become a good friend for her. And as if forgetting something, he rounds back at the top of the stairs, timely giving voice to the hopes that have just now taken root in her heart, "By the way, I'm here if you ever need anything. I got your back now."

She thanks him before watching him go.

The moment she closes the door Elsa notices the sudden quietness of the apartment. It couldn't have been more than five minutes that she's spent outside, could it? With curiosity, she walks back inside, growing suspicious when she finds no one sitting in the living room nor standing in the kitchen. Seconds later, Anna steps out of the bathroom, busy making sure her braided bun has stayed put before she scans as well the now empty area. She is just as puzzled as Elsa.

"How long was I gone for?"

If Anna is equally perplexed then the absence of the other two can only mean one thing. "They're sneaky like that," she explains. And they really are. Elsa recalls a time not too long ago when she had fallen asleep on the couch, only to wake up in the middle of the afternoon with Eugene lounging on the armchair and Rapunzel nowhere in sight. This time, it must have been that the two took advantage of the girls' absences so that they could stealthily move into her cousin's room like a pair of horny teenagers.

Neither girl is too bothered by this newfound privacy, although Elsa isn't sure now of what to do next. The first thing that comes to mind is doing the dishes but that is definitely the most dim-witted idea she's come up with in a while. _Think, what's next_ —"Do you wanna see my room?"

Alright, a dim-witted teenager then.

Anna is notoriously excited so at least there's that. She goes to the couch so that she can grab her purse, an action that Elsa doesn't question despite its oddity; they're not leaving the apartment so what's up with that?

As soon as she opens her bedroom's door, Elsa tries to see the room as if for the first time, through Anna's eyes. Scanning from left to right, the space appears immaculate, which isn't an effort on itself when Elsa barely spends any of her time inside it. There is the corner to her left where the butterfly chair is meant to be, a useless piece of furniture her cousin had convinced her to buy just because it matched with the rest of the room. Her bed, centered and cream colored; a nightstand with its lamp turned on, illuminating over Neruda's book of poems like a spotlight; a desk crammed with notes, textbooks and a laptop, from which one can stare out the window facing 6th street where a myriad of entertaining sights play out indefinitely. Continuing still, there's the four-leveled shelf full of books facing the bed, the ones she's enjoyed and not the ones she's forced to read. And then finally, Anna. The girl who's doing a more detailed take in of Elsa's room and who, predictably, walks straight to the book shelf as soon as she's done.

She follows her with her eyes before doing the same with her feet. Now that they find themselves in complete privacy, Elsa becomes hyper aware of the obvious, possible outcomes in this situation. She thinks shamelessly of all the things she could do to Anna, with at least two of those things ending in absolute nakedness. The bed is there for Christ's sake. But for some reason, her first instinct isn't to take Anna against the bookshelf but to observe her looking at her books. Blame it on the food coma she is still painfully nursing, but she can only react with a smile when Anna's hand goes up to trail over the spines, tapping in acknowledgement at the Agatha Christie book they bought together and humming at a few others Elsa can only guess are some of Anna's own favorites.

When she is done appearing satisfied with Elsa's little collection, she turns on her heels to fully face the blonde.

"I wanted to give you something."

It is then that the action of taking her purse with her is explained. She is pulling out a brown pocket notebook from it that is then handed to Elsa with precious care. On the outside, it looks new, but there's enough writing inside to fill almost all of it. "It's just something I wrote," she begins explaining. "Totally unrelated to anything I'm working on. And it's quite short, too, but I know you've been wanting to read some of my work. Although this is very nerve-wracking because now I'm gonna spend the whole break thinking of what your opinions on it are."

She is successfully silenced with a kiss.

"I'm sure it'll be great."

Anna narrows her eyes, "You better not be too biased."

"I know that can only harm you."

Elsa leads her to the bed then, mostly so that they can sit instead of just stand there in the middle of her room.

"That way you can read it and remember me while you're away," Anna suggests before winking at the blonde. The wink is anything but flirtatious; it is a wink and a half. The right side of her face is scrunched while the other seems to be paralyzed halfway.

Elsa is trying to suppress a smile. "Are you buzzed?"

Anna scrunches her nose. "I'm high on food but also, I suck at winking."

Of course Anna sucks at winking. Why does this make her all the more charming?

She decides then that she doesn't want to sit on the edge of her bed all night. She wants to lay down. And so she does, scooting over towards the pillows while she tugs at Anna's arm, like a kid in need of cuddling time. 

As ladylike as possible, Anna plops herself on the bed, neglecting for what will be the rest of the night her braided hair. She pats invitingly at the space between her torso and her arm, and Elsa obliges with obvious contentment when she rests her head on Anna's shoulder and snakes an arm around her waist. Elsa cannot remember the last time she cuddled without ulterior motives. Rapunzel has the tendency of cuddling with the main intention of making Elsa squirm like a worm under her heavy embrace, and long before her parents' death she had already passed the age where it felt necessary to cuddle so that she could fall asleep. So with Anna, even this is new. She feels warm all over, and she is positive it isn't from the wine she's had tonight. The skin on Anna's neck is soft and radiates a smell that Elsa can only describe as intrinsically hers; no lotion, no fragrance could ever compare. She nuzzles and pulls her closer. 

In a beat, and hitting like a strike of lightning that causes her to fling her eyes open, Kristoff's question jumps forward in her mind.

"Anna?"

"Elsa?"

"Am I your girlfriend?"

The freckled girl cranes her neck back so that she can stare down at Elsa with a bemused look on her face. "Does being my girlfriend entail kissing?"

"Yes?"

"Cuddling?"

Elsa isn't sure what she's trying to get at. "Yes?"

"Sex? Eventually?"

Not for the first time tonight, Elsa becomes flustered. Why is she blushing like a prude? "Yes."

Anna grins, "Then there's your answer."

She swoons a little. _You damn, charming piece of cuteness._

The redhead chases after her lips as if she were sealing a deal, using the arm that she has wrapped around Elsa's shoulders to pull her closer. It doesn't take much for either girl to try to deepen the kiss, with Anna's tongue brushing against Elsa's lower lip in a languid invitation that makes Elsa feel like she's on a free fall as soon as their tongues meet. She senses Anna's caress on her cheek while she does her best to better their position by scooting closer. An attempt that is sure to backfire when the hand that is resting lightly on Anna's stomach presses against it, causing Anna to groan in pain and Elsa to pull back immediately.

"Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?"

"My belly," she groans again, "I'm so full I can barely move."

The girl looks like she's about to pass out and Elsa feels for her. Then again, she doesn't have to, right? She voices the thought before she can have the chance to swallow it: "Then don't."

At Anna's confusion, she rushes to elaborate, "I mean, you don't have to move. Stay over. We don't have to, you know, do anything. Just spend the night. It's late anyways and I'm sure Eugene's already made his decision so it's not like he can accompany you home."

What a glorious moment inside Elsa's otherwise mundane room. Anna accepts, of course, overflowing the blonde with a great sense of delight. And it's not even that the prospect of having sex with Anna has now been fully laid on the table, albeit that is highly welcomed in any case, but something that Elsa cannot even begin to explain. She is excited to share the most vulnerable of a human's actions with Anna, to sleep and feel safe in her arms, to wake up in the middle of the night knowing she is still there, and tomorrow, to wake up to the sight of copper hair sprawled all over her bed and a lovely, freckled face next to her own.

They get ready for bed with leisure. Elsa lends her the spare toothbrush that comes in the packet of two as well as clothes to sleep in. The gray Columbia sweatshirt she gives Anna falls slightly bigger over her petite frame but the shorts fit her perfectly. And by perfectly she means they are highly provocative for Elsa's already sexually permeated thoughts.

"This feels like a sleepover with benefits," Anna giggles as soon as she throws the duvet over their bodies.

Within the darkness of the room, Elsa can feel the redhead wiggling her whole body closer to her front, searching for warmth. She welcomes her lovingly into her arms before kissing her forehead, slowly seeping through a sleepy haze that Anna interrupts minutes later by mumbling something Elsa needs to ask her to repeat. She knows Anna's pulled back to look at her properly, even though all she can see is the outline of her head while the features of her face are so barely visible that it could just as well be Elsa's brain filling them in from memory.

"I'm not sure I can have sex tonight," she repeats in a whisper.

Elsa blinks, dumbstruck. _Uh..._

"I don't know if... Did I make you feel like we had to?"

To her already great surprise, Anna snorts, "That came out weird, huh?"

_No shit, sweetheart._

"I meant to say, I feel as bloated as you probably looked in your Santa costume, so zero sexy."

Elsa wants to laugh so hard from pure bewilderment. Anna gives her whiplash with all the stuff that keeps coming out of her mouth, although Elsa's started to learn that this is because there is no filter between what she thinks and what she says, something that can be both dangerous and precious.

"You look sexier than you think," she comments as soberly as she can. "But, like I said earlier, that doesn't mean it has to lead to anything tonight."

Remaining celibate for the night doesn't mean she can't keep on ghosting her fingers over Anna's bare lower back, does it? Elsa really hopes it doesn't.

"Have you had sex?" Anna asks a few seconds later.

Looks like tonight will be sex ed 101, then. 

"I have."

"Care to elaborate?"

Elsa does laugh at this, "Am I supposed to give you the dirty details?"

Anna chuckles, "No! I just mean, was it good? How was your first time?" She's gone from having both hands tucked under her chin to moving her left arm so that it can rest atop the curvature of Elsa's waist.

"It's been... decent. My sex life isn't enviable, Anna. I don't know if you've noticed but I don't socialize much. And my first time was only as memorable as first times go." It really was. It happened with a girl from med school Elsa keeps running into from time to time, which only makes the walk of shame she had the morning after replay all over again.

"Okay, what about you?"

The redhead hums pensively, but other than that, Elsa cannot decipher the expression on her face. It's so dark it feels like she's having a conversation with a shadow.

"College has been quite the experience," she muses out loud, "but I haven't gone all the way, honestly, cause I've felt like every person I've encountered is the wrong person to have my first time with."

Something in that answer strikes Elsa with particularity. Anna had said earlier that she did not want to have sex because she felt zero sexy, not because she didn't feel ready. Does that mean what she thinks it means? She nears combustion when she entertains the possibility of being Anna's first time, meaning that the redhead has come to the decision in her heart that Elsa _is_ the right person. An honor she would cherish forever if this were to be true.

"You're smarter than I was, then," she whispers.

Anna lets out a yawn. "I think cheesier is the word you're looking for."

"Both," she smiles before drawing Anna back into her arms.

How can you begin falling for someone in the confines of a room that is bathed in complete darkness, deterred by a lack of sight, encouraged by soft caresses and aided by exchanged words?

Exactly like this.


	7. Let me be your first

Sluggish movement is the first thing her mind registers. There is something warm crawling across her bare stomach. Then, a shifting of the surface, and something leaning heavily on her right side. No... Not something, someone. Warm air hits her face. In the distance, a dog barks. Anna breaks through her sleep's haze like breaking through the surface of water; all at once. She realizes her mouth has been agape and closes it with a clank, her brain sending messengers to the lower side of her face to make sure it is not wet with drool. Her eyelids lift heavily, allowing her sight to fall upon an unfamiliar ceiling. To her left, a lamp and a pink little book. To her right... _Ah, yes._ Elsa. The blonde's chin is connecting with her shoulder, her button nose the source of warmth that keeps gracing Anna's cheek back and forth, like tide drifting ashore. Anna stares on dreamily. Elsa's skin reminisces porcelain, decorated by freckles that are faint in comparison to Anna's. Her eyebrows are sculpted like two perfect domes over her closed lids. A peaceful look is gracing her face, a soft smile her lips. 

"Stop staring," the lips whisper.

"Stop being so cute, then."

An eyelid unfolds, revealing a bright blue iris. 

"That's not something I can control."

Anna grins, "Neither can I."

Elsa groans petulantly before pulling her closer at the waist. It had been her hand traveling across her belly earlier, and now that she's fully awake, Anna's awareness has became heightened by the touch. It is both soothing and extremely distracting to be utterly engulfed by Elsa, with her face nuzzling her neck, her arm wrapped around her waist and her leg thrown over her thighs. She's like a gigantic, albino koala. 

"Go back to sleep," Elsa says, her voice groggy.

"I thought you were a morning person."

"I am, but today I have a really comfy pillow that I have to take advantage of."

How can she argue with that? If Elsa wants the cuddles then Anna shall give her the cuddles. It's so surprising still, to be privy to a side of Elsa that is overly affectionate when the first impression Anna once had was of a poised girl with the stoicism of a queen. Well, technically speaking, she was still all that; the affection was a newfound plus.

"You're thinking so loud I can't sleep."

Anna's response is to wiggle onto her side until she is wrapped in a cocoon of Elsa. They smell like bed and a concoction of their own two scents, sweet and mellowy. 

"When do you leave?" Anna asks after a while. 

She can feel the blonde's chest rise and fall, then sigh before responding, "In two days."

Anna racks her brain in an attempt to visualize her upcoming week, looking for enough time to spend with Elsa before she leaves. Unfortunately, she's already offered to pick up shifts for people who are leaving too, which means that no, she won't have the time. 

So she groans, letting the blonde hug her tighter. 

It is quite delightful to realize that Elsa must really enjoy touching her because she hasn't stopped looking for a chance to do so since Anna's been awake. Her hand is now ghosting lazily over her back, and whether she is unaware of the fact that Anna is not wearing a bra—highly unlikely—or simply brushing this acknowledgment to the side, she is doing a marvelous job at leaving goosebumps behind her trail. It makes it hard to concentrate, for Anna's entire nervous system is now focused on the invisible path Elsa is drawing with her fingertips. But concentration is overrated anyways; she doesn't want her to stop, ever, because it feels stupefyingly good. Has anyone ever done that to her back? Anna is quite positive that the answer is no.

But then, the hand stops. _No! Don't stop!_

"Did you fall asleep?"

Elsa stirs, "No?"

The hand resumes, and Anna giggles. 

For a while, the room is engulfed in silence, broken only from exterior sounds loud enough to infiltrate through the shut window. Anna revels in this moment, knowing she will have to let a whole week go by before she can have the chance to enjoy it again. She knows she is being clingy, but she can't help it. This sort of happiness is a new experience to her. Because there's the giddy happiness that hits you when your friends throw you a surprise birthday party; the self-aggrandizing happiness you feel at acing every grade of your semester; the overflowing happiness you feel upon seeing someone you love after years of absence, or the happiness of making it in life. Then there's _this_ kind of happiness; the quiet one, that seeps through the pores and takes over your soul, like placing a mantle over your body that brings nothing but bliss and comfort. That is the happiness Anna is feeling right in this moment, perhaps for the first time, simply lying next to Elsa.

"I wish you could come with me," the blonde whispers.

And I wish you could stay, she wants to say. But she knows that's a tad selfish. Spending time with family is always good, especially when your family is kind and actually gets along. Although...

"Do your uncles know you like girls?"

"They actually just found out."

Anna pulls herself away from the tiny space she's made for herself in between Elsa's chin and her shoulder, "When?"

"Yesterday."

"Wait, how? You didn't mention this last night."

"I kind of forgot, which is a good sign right? They didn't react badly."

For some reason, this conversation calls for an upright position, which is unfortunate for Anna because she has to push herself away from Elsa to sit up. Although perhaps not so unfortunate when the movement causes the duvet to slide off their upper bodies, showing a good amount of the belly that's been revealed by Elsa's ridden up shirt. A part of Anna's brain must have gone off in that moment because she forgets in an instant the reason behind her sudden action. All that matters is that glorious-looking patch of skin. And that navel. And why must the hem of her pants be ridden so low? They are leaving very little to Anna's imagination, and if she looks hard enough she'll be able to see the slight indentation that begins at her waist and travels straight through her hip bones, all the way down to what Anna can already picture is her center.

_Holy mother of_ —

"You okay there?"

"What? No—yes!"

Elsa tugs her shirt down until there is no longer any skin to show off and the action feels like a punishment. 

Mortified, Anna throws herself back on the bed, pulling the covers up to her head to hide the burning of her cheeks. There's a tugging sensation going on in her lower body that is causing her to clench her legs tighter together. _Is this what sexual frustration feels like?_ Elsa is laughing through her attempts of removing the covers that Anna is holding onto like a lifeline.

The redhead won't yield her hold even though it's starting to get stuffy in there. Elsa pokes at her arm through the heavy fabric.

"You have to tell me how it happened!"

"How what happened?"

"Your uncle! Aunt! How do they know!" It sounds ridiculously loud in the small cave she's made for herself but she knows it's the only way it'll get through the layers.

"It's kind of embarrassing actually," but she doesn't sound embarrassed. The embarrassed role is still being enacted by Anna. "She was on a video call with them," another poke, "but I didn't know that, so I just stormed into her room holding two outfits and asked her which one she thought you would like better..." 

Anna lowers the duvet low enough to show her eyes. She peeks at Elsa suspiciously before asking, "Did you really do that?"

"Storm into her room?"

Her eyes roll. "Ask her about what outfit I would like more."

"I did. Looks like she chose right."

The redhead wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, "I hope you wear that at every special occasion from now on."

Elsa snorts. "You haven't let me finish my story."

"Right." She throws the cover back on top of her. "Go on."

_Child_ , she hears Elsa say amusedly.

"Then they asked, who's Anna? And I wasn't sure how to respond so I kind of just blurted out that I was gay."

There's another poke again, this time hitting her ribs with success. Anna squeals. Then, silence.

"Anna, sweetheart, are you ticklish?"

"..."

"No."

Anna knows she has been doomed from the beginning but the merciless attack the blonde lays upon her still manages to make her squeal so loud that her throat itches for minutes to come.

* * *

The first of December. A biting cold day that finds Anna in a coffee shop crammed with hipsters, geeks and tourists while she waits for Elsa to arrive. She's sitting by the window facing the street, surveying the strangers that are trying to survive another cold day in New York City, and entertaining herself by finding the differences between new yorkers and foreigners. The easiest telltale is the direction in which they are looking: new yorkers walk as if they had no peripheral vision while foreigners often get distracted by the most banal of things, like a street sign that says 5th Ave. Then there's the pace. Why new yorkers must go at it like they had the urgency of using the bathroom 24/7 is beyond Anna, although if she had to take a guess, she would attribute it to the general head-on rhythm of the city. Because people move here to fulfill a purpose, not because the rent is affordable or because rats don't pay a visit to the Q train from time to time. A purpose that ends up being satirical if you let the magnanimity of the city swallow you whole.

And so, a thought: How many people currently walking the streets of this city go on daydreaming about changing their lives? And how many people actually do?

Is happiness really so hard to attain that some would much rather pretend and hide behind the curtains of materialism? Does success equal happiness? Anna once thought it did, when the beginning of college felt like a promising path that would lead her to great achievement, to having her name recognized on the covers of her books. But now, she isn't so sure. The wish is there, the inspiration not so much. And now that the end of college is approaching, Anna's been starting to realize that a wish to succeed isn't as moving for her as the craft itself. For what are words if not a game-changing, man-made invention? Dressed by emotions and powered by thoughts. Words give unlimited possibilities to infinite outcomes. They're there for you to take so that you can build story after story, shape it the way you want and perhaps, hopefully, reach into someone's soul. _That's_ the fun part of writing. And this fun is what she has been rediscovering lately, because she is no longer afraid of the future; she is living in the present. And anyhow, success as a writer happens to be different doesn't it? Like a musician or an actor, success arrives when you already happen to do what you love, not upon the sacrifice of something dear to you. 

Or so will Anna think, for nothing but months to come.

"Excuse me, could I have your autograph?"

When Anna turns around, Elsa is standing there with a loving expression on her face. It seems as though the plummeting weather has affected everyone's mood except for the blonde's because she is smiling from ear to ear even though she's not wearing a scarf and even less, a beanie. Anna is appalled at her carelessness but she puts herself in a conflicting position the moment she throws herself into her arms, canceling out whatever berating she had in mind. 

"Wait, you asked for an autograph?"

Elsa laughs before leaning in to kiss her. Her lips are on the verge of frosty. "On the notebook you gave me. I want to be your first, unless you've already been giving out autographs?"

"Does the signature on my lease count?"

"Only if you want Mr. Nap to be your first."

Anna snorts, "No, thanks. But I don't have a cool signature."

The blonde shrugs, shimmying off her coat to place it on the empty seat next to Anna's. "You can just write a dedication then."

And so she does, or tries, while Elsa goes off to order a coffee for herself. 

Although what can she write? She looks over at the girl standing in line with an air of obliviousness that provokes in Anna a vehement touch of affection. She could begin to write so many things in this moment that the small sheet of paper wouldn't provide enough space for. Thank you, for one, because Elsa's little surge of bravery that night led to this... This incredible portion of Anna's life that has been full of discoveries and first times. She could write a dedication to the girl who is slowly taking a precious hold of Anna's heart, to the girl and her brains, her patience and her demure grace. She could write a puny joke, although Elsa laughs the most at her facial expressions and anyways, Anna's never been good at drawing. And even if she were she's not sure Elsa would appreciate opening the notebook to one of Anna's cross-eyed looks on the first page.

She hums. A fragment of the conversation they had on Thanksgiving night flashes through her mind. Without the intention to do so, Anna had implied the truth; she wants Elsa to be her first, she feels it in her bones. But what about everything else? It is perhaps too early to tell when Anna has never experienced affection like this; so dreamy and clear-minded at the same time. She has no idea where infatuation ends and love begins; no way of knowing if these heightened emotions will ever subside to make way to something purer—but who is she kidding! How can she fall for someone in just a few months. That's ludicrous.

Though it is settled. One thing she and her other personalities can agree on is her small, yet sincere dedication to Elsa:

_To my first._

_-Anna_

_Much ado about nothing,_ she thinks ironically while she stares at the page.

Elsa arrives soon after and places her cup of coffee on top of the bar before sitting unceremoniously next to Anna. She grins when the redhead hands the notebook back to her but makes no attempt at reading it in front of her. Like a love letter she's waiting to read in privacy. A three worded love letter. 

She should have come up with something better.

"You looked awfully pensive when I came in."

Anna agrees with a nod. She wasn't considering discussing this with Elsa, but now that it's out there: "What do you think of success?"

"That's a shiny word," she comments. "I think it's relative. For me it doesn't mean much."

The redhead looks skeptical. "You wouldn't like to be a successful doctor?"

Elsa sips from her coffee while she thinks over her answer, her blue eyes surveying the street like Anna had done minutes before, "I would like the stability," she decides. "But what's success as a doctor? Having patients lining outside your consultation room? Receiving awards for most people cured in a year? To me that pulls you away from the basic fact that you're trying to help make the quality of a person's life better. I've met 'successful' doctors that have dozens of patients waiting to see them but then take ten minutes with each. That barely gives you enough time to ask about flu symptoms."

A humbling answer that. It's a selfless opinion, considering the amount of people that undertake a certain career based on how much money they can make.

"I find success intimidating," Anna admits.

The blonde's delicate hand goes up to brush her bangs with affection, "Then focus on what you love, and only do it because you love it."

"Easier said than done," she says sardonically.

There is that soft smile again; the one Anna has yet to see being directed at anyone else.

"I believe in you, Anna. And I believe that success will come to you one way or another."

Perhaps it is bold to assume something so consequential about someone's future. And while she knows the statement often poses as a placebo of sorts, Elsa seems to be dead sure about Anna's capabilities. There is an unequivocal support behind Elsa's words that Anna didn't know she needed until now.

"So," Elsa adds, "I have questions about your story."

"Did you like it?" 

"I loved it."

"No bias?"

"No bias."

"Okay," she grins, "ask away."

The redhead fiddles with her fingers in anticipation, watching Elsa consider her first question while she runs her slender fingers through loose, blonde tresses. 

Anna knows she shouldn't feel so enticed by such a common action. But then again, Elsa is playing with her hair like she's trying to give her a painfully slow cardiac arrest. Her eyes follow the movement with intent, watching the way Elsa's hair cascades over her shoulder in order to reveal a jawline that Anna wants nothing but to cover with sweet, languid kisses. Dazzling, blue eyes peer at her through dark lashes, captivating Anna with a desire that is only subdued by the tenderness she finds underneath. And it is then, at this precise moment that Anna realizes: Elsa is doing it on purpose.

The realization brings heat to her cheeks along with perhaps a dash of indignation, because Anna has fallen for it like a zealot would for cheap hypnosis. Elsa laughs softly, her eyes full of mirth and affection, before she rewards her by leaning closer, taking hold of her thigh for support, and leaving a kiss on her lips.

"Do you want to go to the park?"

Anna arches an eyebrow, "What's wrong with the warmth and comfort of this place?"

Elsa shrugs, "It's not a park."

"You do know it's like forty degrees outside, right?"

But the blonde is already standing up, and Anna soon learns this was a battle she was never meant to win.

"It's forty-eight. Come on," she says extending her hand towards her girlfriend, "I'll keep you warm, I promise."

A promise has never sounded so tempting in her life.

So Anna acquiesces, for no real reason other than because the blonde has promised to keep her warm, even if she _knows_ in the deepest corner of her heart, that her ass will freeze once it hits the bench of the park. She prepares herself, though. A beanie effectively covers her hair and ears, while gloves protect her hands. The only issue is that she cannot bear to see Elsa so unprotected from the cold, no matter how many times the blonde insists that she will be fine, and so she forces her to wear the pink scarf she's brought along.

The first rush of cold air nearly brings Anna back into the coffee shop but she clings to Elsa's arm instead. She chugs the remaining of her coffee, the tepid liquid failing grandly in alleviating her shivering. It's so cold she wants to crawl inside the blonde's coat and never leave her side. Although, really, that's how she feels half of the time already.

"You are _insane_ for doing this, Elsa. I don't know how you can walk like it's summertime."

"It's a psychological thing, you can do it too."

"Psychological thing my freezing ass. You're crazy."

Elsa grins down at the pavement, "What's that saying... 'birds of a feather flock together?'"

Anna scoffs. "I would smack you but I don't want to risk losing my hand in the process."

The streets have thinned down slightly now that the afternoon rush is over and, given the uninviting weather, scarce people dare to venture into a park at this time. With the exception of the few random visitors with the dreadful responsibility of walking their dog, Anna and Elsa are the only ones looking like nutcases.

But Elsa stays true to her word, and Anna curses at her accurate premonition. She does freeze her ass once she sits on the bench, even if the blonde does everything in her humane power to keep her warm. Which means, Anna has wriggled until she is almost entirely on top of Elsa, with her legs draped over her lap and her head resting comfortably on her shoulder. Perhaps it was convenient that they left the coffee shop behind; she wouldn't have been able to sit like this back there, proving that once more, Elsa has shown her smart, proactive skills (she doesn't need to know that).

"Okay, so what made you write that story?" Elsa finally asks.

Anna lifts her head up enough to look at the blonde, "I thought you were just pretending to think sexy."

Elsa flashes a smile, "I _was_ thinking. Not my fault you found it sexy."

"Whatever." She replies lamely before letting her head fall back on its place. "It all started because I was sitting in a park the other day, and there was this old lady sitting across from me. She looked like she was waiting for someone because she kept glancing around, looking for a familiar face, you know?" 

She recalls the memory in detail, how the lady kept fidgeting with her wrinkly hands, sometimes looking, sometimes lost in thought. She wasn't there reading a book, or knitting, or feeding the birds, she was there with a purpose that, given the defeat marked in her posture and the sad lines of her face, was not fulfilled.

"I stayed for as long as she did, like a creep, but no one came... And when she left, she had this look of resignation that made me think, what if she was waiting for someone who's no longer here? I mean who knows really, maybe her date stood her up or something."

Elsa remains quiet, sipping her coffee. Anna can see from her peripheral vision the arm that the girl has wrapped around her before she reaches towards it and begins playing with the Elsa's naked hand. "So the whole idea of her writing letters to this person came up," she continues, "she keeps expecting them to arrive home, maybe hoping to find them as she rounds the corner, or for them to meet her at the park."

Now that she is delving into it she can see how depressing it must have been for Elsa to read that. 

So much for light travel reads.

"Anyways, she comes to terms with it, and that's where it ends, with her writing a last letter where she mentions she's visited them at their grave," she rushes out. She's become highly self-conscious of her story, its gloominess and its tragic resignation, so she feels the need to add: "I don't always write about such sad stuff but, you know, that's what came up when I thought of that lady and everything sort of unfolded from that idea." 

The fingers she has been fiddling with go around her hand to squeeze it in reassurance. "It's not depressing, if that's what you think. I mean it _is_ sad, but that's life. You did a really good job at portraying her pain and her longing with just a few words. I really felt for her."

Anna is unsure of what to say. One thing is having someone admit they like her work, but explaining the reasons why leaves Anna without the social skills to respond properly. It feels like that awkward moment where you have to stand and watch people sing happy birthday to you.

"Anna, you're much more talented than you peg yourself to be."

She snorts self-deprecatingly. "You only say that because you lo—iiike me... Like me."

A pregnant pause.

Anna's ass is starting to go numb from their position and she wiggles until her legs are fully back on the bench. When she looks at Elsa she realizes she's been intently staring at her the whole time.

In a second, the corners of her lips lift into a smile.

"I do like you. A lot."

"I like you too," she whispers back. But this time, Anna doesn't need the help of words to demonstrate Elsa just how much.

It begins gently, like a caress. Elsa's lips feel like ice against her own; so cold they are hot to the touch. Despite their limited position Anna is quick in begging for more of Elsa, cradling her face with her gloved hand before nipping at her lower lip and soothing it with a caress of her tongue. She does this once more, sucking on it this time, relishing the moan that reverberates against her mouth. A gasp escapes her the moment Elsa's cold hand reaches behind her neck, and she shivers down to the tip of her toes as soon as the blonde's tongue collides against hers. Their movement is unhurried, passionate. Over and over, they separate to meet again, never satiated by the taste of each other. Anna reaches the point of oblivion every time Elsa sucks on her tongue, but she nearly comes undone when the blonde becomes bold enough to start leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses that begin at the corner of her mouth and end on the spot behind her ear. The dichotomy of the freezing air that surrounds them against the heat of the moment is not lost in Anna's hazy mind. Her breathing is near staccato, her hand squeezes Elsa's thigh. And then: Elsa sucks on her pulse point and a moan escapes her, loudly enough to break through the heat of their passion. 

They separate in a second, wide-eyed and flustered. Elsa is biting her lips to keep herself from laughing and Anna is covering her mouth with both hands. She glances around to make sure they are still alone in the park, but to her great misfortune there is a middle-aged lady that's been standing by a tree waiting for her dog to finish with its business for an amount of time Anna doesn't wish to know. It seems like long enough, however, because even though she isn't looking their way she is tugging at her dog with uncharacteristic urgency.

The moment the woman crosses the gates of the park Elsa bursts out laughing. It seems as though the blonde has the upper hand when it comes to Anna's libido because she keeps controlling it like a puppeteer pulling strings. 

"I'm sorry," she says between giggles. "I swear I didn't know she was there."

Anna narrows her eyes. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

She remains sitting a few inches away from Elsa, allowing the cold to appease her over-heated body while Elsa sobers up after laughing at Anna's loss of dignity.

"I missed you," Elsa admits a few seconds later.

"You missed laughing at me."

"Amongst other things."

She risks jumping Elsa when she does this, but she gets closer again to hug her. "I missed you, too," she mumbles against the fabric of her scarf.

* * *

"Elsaaaaa."

"Anna, stop getting so close to the platform."

"Tell me where we're goiiiing!"

"I have a friend I want to introduce you to. Now get over here."

"But _where?!"_

"Queens."

A gasp. "Are we going to the senior center?!"

Elsa smirks, "You know it's not an amusement park, right? There might be games but they're limited to chess, checkers, bingo and puzzles."

She dismisses her comment with a wave of her hand. "Nonsense. We're talking about decades upon decades of stories all in one room! Imagine the possibilities! The romance they've lived, the action, the tragedies!" She begins jumping on the balls of her feet, drawing bewildered looks from commuters all around, "Oh, I'm so excited!"

The blonde grabs her hand this time when she notices Anna getting too close to the yellow line that delimits the platform. "You are one strange girl," she tells her, "I've never seen anyone get so excited about going to a home for the elderly."

Anna narrows her eyes, "How many girls have you brought to see your friends?"

Elsa pretends to think harder than Anna can be amused by. "Including you? One."

The train destined to Queens arrives with a familiar screeching sound before the girls step into the car and head straight towards the two empty seats on their immediate right.

Anna turns to look at the blonde by propping her knee on top of the seat. "Okay, now tell me, who am I meeting exactly?"

"You're meeting many of them, but Theo in specific really wants to meet you."

"Why?"

"She's a writer. And I may or may not have mentioned your name a few times already."

She gasps again. "Here I thought it couldn't get any more exciting!"

And yet, excited is not what she feels when they arrive at the end of the M line an hour later. Anna falls asleep twenty minutes into the ride, like a child who's capable of being deprived of energy after a surge of excitement. She falls asleep with her hand intertwined with Elsa's and her head, like dead weight, resting on the blonde's shoulder. And dead weight it is, because Elsa keeps having to put her book down to gently push Anna's head back on top of her shoulder to prevent it from plopping all the way down to her lap.

Before the operator announces the last stop, Elsa rouses Anna from her beauty sleep with a whisper and a poke, "We're here, darling."

Anna comes back from the dead disoriented, half of her head disheveled and her left cheek red from the pressure she's put against Elsa's slender shoulder.

"What a ride, huh?"

Elsa bites into her smile. "Oh, yeah. You were so excited I almost expected you to start snoring."

"I don't snore."

"Uh-huh."

The walk to Castle Senior Center is short-lived. The neighborhood is quiet, picturesque even. Its streets give off an otherworldly sensation with its empty sidewalks and buildings that don't reach beyond two floors. Anna can see the entirety of the sky by simply looking up and if she pays close attention, she can also hear the birds chirping atop the naked trees. In other words: the suburbs. An extraterrestrial zone compared to the hustle, grayness and skyscrapers of the city.

The Center is smaller than she expected. It reminisces a house, really, albeit with a deceiving look because it is much bigger inside than it looks on the outside. The lobby does not give the allusion of being a medical reception; it is warm and welcoming, and for a place that takes care of the elder, it does not feel like a death sentence.

Elsa is greeted as soon as the girls walk in before she introduces Anna to the lady sitting across the counter. Posing both as frequent volunteers, they're asked to sign in before they're led to the drawing room where it appears like the majority of the residents are spending some down time.

What immediately succeeds is incredibly amusing for Anna and perhaps a little heart-melting as well. Both men and women, accumulating over a thousand years worth of life experiences, all cheer at the sight of the blonde. Although, maybe cheer is an understatement. Cheer can be found at bars where rowdy people watch football, at the stadium, at a youthful party. Here, it is more of a mellow cheer, with some worrisome coughing involved, short-breathed exclamations and lots of wrinkly arms slowly lifting up in a greeting gesture. Elsa, it seems, is a bit of a celebrity around here. And Anna can easily recognize the reason behind this. The blonde has a heart so big it shouldn't be possible to be contained in such a small frame, and if she bestows on everyone even just half of the care and affection that she does onto Anna, then yes, everyone must adore her just as much.

There are approximately fifteen people in the spacious room, all of whom want a share of the girls. The redhead meets Louie, the eldest of the group and a World War II veteran who listens to Beethoven with an ear horn he refuses to upgrade. Then there's Greta, a petite woman with a mighty voice, who owned a brothel in New Orleans during her years of hustle and then sold it so that she could get married in Paris. Margo, who was sent off carelessly by her son to this center and in return, she disowned him of the great fortune he didn't know she had made. She's now here by choice and has decided to donate half of her money to animal shelters. Sergei, the flirt of the house; Russian by name, Italian by heart. He's had more wives than he can now recall but while his memory is no longer good enough to retain his grandkids' names, he never forgets a pretty face when he sees one.

Theo, Theodora, is patiently waiting her turn by one of the windows lining the drawing room. She has paused her game of puzzle, looking on with amusement at the interactions between the girls and their seniors.

From what Elsa has told her, Theo dresses a color a day; from the gems of her bedazzlement all the way down to the slacks she wears. It is fabulously genius. And today: navy blue. A satin blouse beneath a navy blazer that matches her pants; topaz on her fingers and sapphire on her ears. It could all be so flamboyant if it weren't for Theo's modest presence. A modesty that breaks the moment she beckons Anna closer for a crushing, juvenile hug.

"So you are the young writer Elsa won't stop talking about!"

Elsa covers her face, " _Theo_ ," she begs.

"Hush, you," she says to Elsa before turning to the younger girl, "Elsa's told me so many dreamy things about you that at first I thought all those books she reads musta finally gotten to her head."

Theo speaks with a drawl that is defined by her heavy New York accent, and she occupies her chair looking like a matron with the self-possession of an experienced mafioso. Her brown hands move gracefully when she talks although the fluorescent blue of her nails makes her highly conspicuous in the room.

Anna gives her a sideways grin, "I didn't know she talked so much about me."

"That's an understatement, honey, I knewthis girl had it bad the moment she said Anna like she was pronouncing a sanctified name—"

"Oookay!" Elsa interrupts, her cheeks a bright red. "I think I'll just let the two of you get to know each other, I owe Serg a game of checkers anyways."

She hesitates on her feet for a few seconds before she decides to leave a peck on Anna's cheek. The redhead watches her go with a dreamy look of her own.

"Sit, sugar, I don't want you fainting from that kiss."

Anna does, "I'm glad to finally be here, Miss—"

"Theo, honey, we refer to each other by our first name here, it makes us feel younger."

She begins sorting through the pieces of the unfinished puzzle that lies on the table between them. Her age reveals itself through her movements: they are slow and deliberate, not from concentration, but from a weakness she is choosing to control. "So," she says, "Elsa tells me you're a writer."

"I would like to be. I'm only just finishing college."

"What are you planning to do after?"

Anna fidgets. This question always brings her to the edge of anxiety. "I'm not sure. I was thinking I could work at an editorial, or a writing agency, to get my foot in the door at least."

"That's not a bad plan." Theo invites her to join in the fun by pushing a few loose pieces towards her. "Make sure you execute it well."

Anna is not sure if the last part is meant to be applied on the jigsaw or the pursuit of a job. She takes it as both. She's never finished a puzzle before.

"Was it hard becoming a writer?"

"It's not hard to become a writer, honey. You can call yourself a writer all you want and spend the rest of your life making grocery lists."

_Point taken,_ she thinks.

"The hard part is becoming a _good_ writer. And I don't mean a successful writer, cause you can write a shit book and still sell millions of copies. But try making them feel something. Now that shit's hard—" she pauses, reaching over to place her wrinkly hand atop Anna's, "You don't mind my cursing do you?"

Anna chuckles, "No, m'am."

"Alright. Good." She goes back to the puzzle. "Now what's a good writer do? It's simple. And if your school's worth the damn money you're paying then you must know that all a good writer does is make someone _feel_. Period. Move them to tears, make 'em laugh, make some dude toss your book out the window in frustration or an old lady like me live vicariously through a young prostitute. If you've made just one person feel something from the very depths of their souls, then you've done it."

The redhead looks on captivated. Part of her wishes she had this written out somewhere so that she can go back to it whenever she's suffering from crippling self-doubt. This lady is so badass she wants to kneel at her feet before throwing herself at Elsa in gratitude.

"Don't be so starstruck," Theo teases, "I ain't no bestseller."

"That doesn't matter. You said it yourself."

The elder laughs. "Glad you paid attention."

Anna grins with pride before looking down at their small progress. It's beginning to look like a landscape of some sorts, like a magic forest or the gardens of a castle. Anna can't find the lid with the end result anywhere near. Then she glances over at Elsa. The girl has her chin propped on her hand in hard concentration, a small frown drawn on her face while she stares at the board of checkers.

When she looks back at Theo there is a knowing smile on her face. "That girl has a heart of gold," she tells her. "And I can tell you do, too."

The redhead smiles shyly.

"Let me ask you this, sugar." She leans in conspiratorially, her eyes hard in search for the truth. "Do you love her?"

Anna's teal eyes widen in surprise. Does she? She looks for an answer in the girl sitting a few meters away from them. What does she feel for Elsa? She can't even begin. So many things Anna's never had to deal with before; safety, happiness, comfort. She feels like she can be herself around Elsa without a single trace of fear that she will think her too awkward or too clingy. Whenever they're apart Anna misses her and every time she thinks of her future, Elsa is there; blurry, yes, undefined, even, like a picture that's just barely revealing itself in the water. But she is there nonetheless. Around her, sadness feels inconsequential, so far removed from Anna's heart that it's like she's never been, and never will be, touched by it again.

Is that what love is?

She sighs. "I don't know."

Theo tsks. "When you know you know," she declares. "But I'll let you come to that one yourself. Now lemme tell you one last thing before my dusty mind forgets. Gimme your hand, this is important."

Anna complies.

Theo holds and pats her hand with affection before she says these words: "A day might come where you will be forced to choose between who you love and what you love. They will tell you it's one or the other, but not both... I'm telling you now, _don't_. Find a balance. Make it work, no matter what."

Her brown eyes pierce Anna's with a conviction that leaves her unable to respond with anything but a nod. She is afraid to ask what it would cost her to choose one over the other because in the elder's features Anna can see the scrupulous serenity of a person who's lost to love.

In a second, the sobriety in Theo is gone and substituted by a cheerful grin. "Now enough of that. I want the real details of how you two met cause Elsa keeps tellin' me she approached you at a party and I just can't see this one either at a party or flirting with a girl."

Anna laughs before she reiterates the story Elsa keeps telling time and again. She also tells her about the time Elsa visited her at work, about the book of poems she got for her and about their first date. It is refreshing to gush about the blonde this way, to swoon at their first kiss or at Elsa's protective nature, or gossip about the time they were caught making out on the bench of a park. Theo carries the attitude of someone's who's seen and lived it all, and Anna finds herself enjoying her company so much that she is slightly disappointed when Elsa stops by her seat to let her know they should head out.

She then says to Theo, "I hope you spared some of my dignity."

"I might have left some scraps intact," the woman jokes.

It is some time before they can truly leave because Theo is relentless in her teasing towards both girls.

As they make their way back to the train station Anna's mind slowly becomes overcrowded with thoughts fed by her conversation with the elder. Thoughts of love, of her future, of what could happen if the two were to ever encounter each other in Anna's fate. The future is both imminent and uncertain, and for those two reasons Anna chooses, today, to push it to the side. Because what's certain in that moment is the girl standing next to her. Sweet, loving Elsa who's done nothing but bring delight into Anna's present. Patient Elsa, who waits for Anna to bring up whatever topic she chooses to discuss this time, knowing full well it wasn't just her they must have discussed, but Anna's future as a writer as well.

Because today is not the day to feel pressured by uncertainty. Today is the day to start learning what love is.

"Come on," she says before letting go of the taller girl's hand, "whoever makes it first to the entrance pays for din—hey! That's cheating!"

Laughing, she runs after Elsa.


	8. The universe's atonement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the reviews. They mean the world to me. Hope you enjoy this one :)

The winter solstice represents the longest hours of darkness in a single day. For the believers, it culminates in the renewal of energy, in self-reflection, in rebirth. This phenomenon has got more deities than letters in its two words and more female characters than a superhero movie. For the Pagans, it is the Yule, one of the oldest winter celebrations in history. For Anna, it is Elsa's birthday, the day the world was gifted with one of the sweetest of its people. Or so Anna says anyways, because for Elsa it's really just one more year added to her life.

She has never been one to celebrate lavishly; often choosing a quiet celebration with her cousin or her parents, and perhaps, if the weather permits it, a trip somewhere close or an outing of sorts in the city. Elsa is a sucker for the intimate rather than the carousal. Give her a nice dinner spent with wine and the people closest to her, and she'll be good for the the three hundred and sixty-five days until her next one.

And this, it seems, Anna has understood perfectly well even though she has admitted to celebrating her own birthday a week in advance, enjoying grand Broadway-like gestures and indulging in more than one cake. She's also not opposed to numerous presents, and all this Elsa has taken note of for the upcoming year. 

The point is, Anna enjoys some of the things Elsa would be squeamish about if they were being done onto her, and it is in this abysmal difference between tastes and Anna's heartfelt consideration for what she prefers that Elsa finds her gratitude. Because Anna is encapsulating her planet-size excitement about birthdays into a box that is the perfect kind, the perfect amount of merriment for Elsa. And if that isn't a real sign of affection, then Elsa doesn't really know what else it could be. Because this is a pattern she is starting to recognize in herself; there is no denying that anymore. Not when the redhead is her first thought in the morning and her last at night. Not when it brings her pure, unadulterated happiness to see Anna smile. And certainly not when she shows up unannounced right outside her bedroom door on the morning of her 24th birthday.

Let's rewind...

It begins with a phone call at midnight; at which time Elsa is far beyond the realm of wakefulness.

Her cellphone rings the moment the clock in Anna's phone strikes twelve (it is still 11:58 in Elsa's, mind you) and while this is the first call she receives for her birthday, it could very well be the last, in general. Or so Elsa thinks for a moment because not only is the phone call successful in rousing her, but also in scaring the shit out of her. And what receives her at the other end of the line? None other than Anna, singing in the most lovely voice Elsa's ever heard and doing her best impersonation of Marilyn Monroe's 'Happy Birthday Mr. President'. But let's rewind again. This is not Elsa's first reaction; her first reaction is instant worry in the pit of her stomach. Her sleep-fueled disorientation provides for the few seconds in which she forgets it's even her birthday and that this could very well be the reason why Anna is calling. Because who calls in the middle of the night unless it's an emergency, right? Her first thought is that perhaps Anna's forgotten her keys again, her second, that she's stranded somewhere in the city and needs immediate aid. So again, it isn't Anna's version of a sultry voice that she expects. Not at all. She expects whining and snotty-nosed crying. 

Anna sings the whole nine bars of the most awfully recognized song on the planet while Elsa smiles like a fool in the dark. It makes her wonder why she must be on the other side of the city and not here, in her arms.

"Happy birthday!" Anna squeals when she's done singing.

"Thank you," she whispers, and then, "I thought you were calling because you'd locked yourself out again."

"I would have called Mr. Nap for that, we're on good terms again."

"So he liked the cake?"

"I think he did, a little too much actually," she laughs. "I hold some power over him now."

Elsa smiles, folding into her side and cradling in her hand the source of Anna's voice. "Use it wisely," she jokes.

There's a hummed assertion and then a half-suppressed yawn. "I set up an alarm because I couldn't trust that I wouldn't be passed out by midnight," Anna confesses.

"You didn't have to... You could have waited until tomorrow morning or something."

"But I wanted to," she hears Anna whisper, the need for her company taking deeper roots inside her. Why must she miss her so if it's only been a full day since the last time she saw her?

"You should go back to sleep, darling," she tells her. She can hear Anna yawning despite the girl's efforts to suppress it and although part of her wishes she would stay on the line, Elsa knows Anna cherishes her sleep more than anyone else she's ever met.

"Yes, yes, in a minute," another yawn, "I wanted to go over the plans for tomorrow with you."

She chuckles, "Do you have a strict agenda saved on your phone?"

"I do not. I have a color-coded schedule on my wall."

Elsa laughs, the melodic sound breaking through the hollows of the dark. "What are our plans for tomorrow then?"

"Okay, so I meet you guys at your place in the afternoon. Then we meet the _guys_ guys at Columbus—but are you sure you want them to go? I can just tell them to go skate at the kiddie's park."

Elsa reassures her once more. It had been her own idea to invite Kristoff and Eugene to whatever birthday celebration Anna was planning for her. At first, Anna was hesitant, mostly because the interaction between the three is scarce and she didn't want the blonde to invite them just for the sake of compromise, but Elsa was adamant. Her circle of friends has grown considerably from one to three in the spam of a few months so yes, she is sure.

"Okay," Anna continues, "so we'll meet the guys at Columbus Circle. Then we have dinner and _then_ we go to the ice rink... Ooor, we could do that the other way around, ice rink, dinner. It all depends on how hungry you are."

"I'm not sure how hungry I'll be in the future but I'll tell you as soon as I find out," she jokes.

A pause.

"Smart ass."

"It's all from hanging out with you," Elsa is grinning as she says this. Teasing the girl has become a newfound hobby of hers.

"Yeah, yeah..."

It seems as though Anna has been lulling herself to sleep with each word coming out of her mouth. So Elsa takes the initiative because she has a feeling that if it were up to the redhead they would keep the conversation going until one of the two passed out without warning.

"Go to sleep, Anna... And thank you, for calling me. It really means a lot..."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Anna whispers.

There is only so much Elsa can express at the moment. Because this doesn't just mean a lot; it means the world. Her parents used to tiptoe into her room at midnight to hug and wish her a happy birthday up until the year before their deaths. So the fact that Anna is doing this, without her knowing, reaches a string in Elsa's heart that's been left untouched for years. It is a dual aspect that succeeds in bringing out a yearning for her parents and an outpouring fondness caused by Anna's characteristic thoughtfulness.

It is hard to hang up when she has heard Anna's voice in the darkness of her room, for Elsa knows she will not be there, with her, amongst the silence that will follow. She misses her as soon as the phone call is over and has a hard time falling back asleep, to the point where she almost turns her bedside lamp to read so that she can stay distracted.

Like a medley of thoughts, Elsa goes from her parents to Anna; from another year lived, to the rest of her life. What is it about birthdays that are both a cause of celebration and a legitimate reason to be depressed? It starts off dandy, most of the time. There's the good wishes, the shower of gifts, the doting of your loved ones. But all it takes is a single comment to bring back memories you wish were forgotten, to remind you that your life is ticking away with each breath you take; to make you consider Botox upon the sight of that first wrinkle on your face. It takes very little to be triggered on the day where you gather the most attention. And for Elsa, it's taken Anna's genuinely thoughtful call to reminisce a world of memories. 

It's not sorrow she feels anymore, but the longing that never truly leaves her side. She wishes her parents were here, gushing over their only daughter turning twenty-four and celebrating her birthday from start to finish. But mostly, she wishes they were here because then, maybe, Elsa would be able to say the truth she never got to say out loud. She wonders how they would have reacted to her sexuality and imagines that her mother would have come around faster than her father. After all, he was a man protective of his family, and to bear a child that is inherently different in any way is to bring them into a world marred with hatred and judgement. Although for this, Elsa knows he would have come around. Because you can never protect someone if you cannot love and accept them first for who they are. And then comes the thought of Anna. Her parents could have met her and Elsa knows without a trace of doubt that they would have adored her. Her mother would have found Anna's sense of humor charming and her kindness disarming, while her father would have loved the redhead's feistiness and the fact that she loves books just as much as if she were one of their own.

The universe will never cease to be this way, she thinks. It will take away from you and give you something in return. Nothing will ever pose as an equal to the other but its atonement isn't meant to be a mirror of emotions, it's meant to be transformed, and to change you in the process. Always change. Elsa's heart shifted into something colder the moment her parents were gone but now... Now, it is slowly being thawed by Anna's presence in her life.

The night stretches on and her mind starts to become subdued by slumber. Mental gaps mute her thoughts for longer periods each time until Elsa is conquered once more by dreams formed between lucidity and rest.

She doesn't look at her phone again after she hangs up with Anna, and so she will never be able to tell the time she falls asleep.

Now let's fast forward to the present...

Elsa has been awake for about an hour now. She's gone as far as brushing her teeth before tucking herself back in bed with a book in hand. Currently laying on the plateau between rest and festivity, she is planning on extending her situation for as long as she can before her cousin bursts into her room looking for a bone-crushing hug. In the book she holds, Konstantin Levin is hosting himself at his own pity party in the country. And what a snob he is, Elsa thinks, because who broods surrounded by nature? He owns a whole estate, for Christ's sake. He can just go out for a nice stroll, forget about Kitty; find someone better. She pauses for a second and skims all the way to the last page so that she can look at the number on the bottom right corner: 864.

_Eight sixty four?!_

Elsa puts the book down and stares at the wall indignantly.

Eight hundred and sixty-four pages of Russian-style telenovela. And don't get her started on Anna because the drama that woman attracts on her own is enough to fill a decent sized book—

A knock on her door interrupts her thoughts. She frowns. Her cousin rarely knocks, and when she does it's never this timid.

"Uh, come in?"

But no one does. Instead, another knock; more teasing this time.

Elsa narrows her eyes. Does she really have to leave her bed for this? What is Rapunzel playing at? Her book falls on her duvet with a soft thud and, huffing, Elsa pads over to her door. She is readying the icy stare she will fix on the brunette as soon as she opens, but the expression melts in a second. Because it isn't her cousin standing on the other side of the door, but Anna. Redheaded, red-nosed Anna, who is smiling so wide that the commissures of her lips are lifting her freckled cheeks and lighting up her eyes.

"Surprise!" Anna half whispers, bouncing slightly on her toes.

Elsa is laughing through her confusion, "What—how did you get in?"

"I called Rapunzel so that she could let me in."

"Wait, when did you get her number? Did she go back to bed?"

Anna rolls her eyes, "You're asking too many questions." Then, lifting her arms up she says, "Give me a hug!"

Elsa complies easily. All this bewilderment had prevented her from reacting as she would have under normal circumstances. But the thing is, she really wasn't expecting to see Anna until later that day.

She cannot complain, though. The warmth of Anna's embrace, even when she's spent who knows how long outside in the cold, cannot compare to the warmth of an empty bed.

"I'm here to take you out for breakfast," Anna finally tells her while she sheds her coat and places it on the chair by Elsa's desk. "I got Raps' number the day after our Thanksgiving dinner, and yes she went back to bed. I don't think she was fully awake when she opened the door. You know how when you go to the bathroom in the middle of the night you keep your eyes almost shut so that you don't lose the thread of sleep? Well, that's what she looked like right now..."

Elsa is staring at her with amusement. "Raps?" She asks.

Anna shrugs. "I just came up with it. It's more practical for those of us who like to ramble."

Oddly enough, that does make a lot of sense.

"So, breakfast?"

"Yes," Anna grins. "I would have brought it to you but I know how much you like this disturbing weather... But fear not! I've come prepared."

And prepared she is, because she has pulled out of her tote bag a gray set of beanie, scarf and gloves for Elsa to wear.

The blonde's hand goes up to cover her growing smile, "You know I do have winter clothes, right?"

Anna's hands holding the set go down in a flap, her face stoic and grumpy. "Well, you don't _act_ like it."

Elsa laughs. In a few strides Anna is in her arms and in a second, their lips meet, lasting long enough to steal her breath away.

"I promise I will from now on... Let me just get ready."

"We can take our time," the redhead suggests before separating herself from Elsa and taking the couple of steps that separate her from the bed. She looks at the neglected book that rests there before picking it up. 

"Anna Karenina, huh?"

"Quite the namesake, I would say."

Anna hums, inspecting its cover, its back, then its content. "What was that thing Lemony Snicket wrote in one of his books? The central theme of Karenina is that rural life is more preferable to a person something, something, than a life of impulsive passion which only leads to tragedy..." She gently places the book on the bedside table, "The other guy says that's a very long theme, and then the person replies—"

"It's a very long book," Elsa finishes.

"Yes!" Anna exclaims before throwing herself at the blonde's unmade bed. She wiggles until her head is resting on one of the pillows then pats the bed twice and beckons Elsa into her arms. "I knew I wasn't just dating you for your charming looks," she teases.

Elsa smacks her belly soft enough not to hurt but hard enough that it demonstrates her fake indignation. However, this only succeeds in getting a giggle out of the redhead.

Her body still carries the cool temperature of the outside but this doesn't stop Elsa from lying down as close to her as she can. It is an automatic response at this point, to wrap her arms around Anna whenever she is near.

"I thought I wasn't going to see you until the afternoon."

"I called in sick."

" _Anna."_

" _Elsa,_ " she mirrors before playfully trailing her pinky down her nose. "Happy birthday, by the way."

She's unsure whether to chastise or thank Anna, so she groans in frustration instead before she leaves a peck on her neck that makes her snicker and squirm away.

"You're awfully ticklish."

"After the terror you made me go through the last time I was here, that shouldn't come as a surprise."

And how could Elsa forget? Anna's screeching was tantamount to a wailing cockatoo. Plus, she fell off the bed.

Elsa remains dead silent until she cannot keep the laughter at bay. The retrieved memory is still so fresh in her mind that her bursting is just as overwhelming as the first time and contagious enough that even Anna laughs at her own expense.

Eventually, Elsa does get ready. She forgoes the shower for now because Anna is adamant that she cannot go out with wet hair and both girls are too hungry to wait until she dries it. She wears clothes to match the gray set Anna has brought and dons a black coat that every so-called new yorker must own at one point in their lives.

It _is_ cold outside, even for her, but thankfully the girl striding next to her has done enough research to find a place that only requires a five-minute walk. The restaurant isn't crowded. Attribute it to the weather or to the season, Elsa cannot decide, but it is a nice and mellow start to her birthday; perfect even.

Over pancakes and coffee, Anna brings up a topic she usually tiptoes around.

"So my parents called me last night."

"Oh... How are they?"

"They sound good," she says before taking a piece of pancake into her mouth that she takes her time chewing over. "They told me they wanna come to my graduation."

The statement makes Elsa's eyebrows go up in mild surprise, her coffee halfway to her lips. "That's... good? No?"

Anna shrugs. "It shouldn't be surprising that they want to attend their daughter's graduation, right? I didn't know what else to do but agree. I can't exactly tell them not to come."

"Isn't it too early to plan all this?"

"It's only five months away. And they want us all to apply in like, end of January."

Elsa can see the conflict swimming beneath her bright eyes. There's also a slump in her shoulders that wasn't there when they first sat down. "You don't want them to come, do you?" 

Anna mulls over her answer by pushing a syrupy piece of pancake around the plate. "It's not—it's more complicated than that. I would like them to come... kinda. But I would also like _you_ to come. I know I'm assuming all kinds of stuff, like the fact that you would be interested in going or that you'll have the time. But if you go and my parents go... you know they don't know. And I don't wanna hide that, not if you go... would _you_ like to go?" She throws her hands up in exasperation, "And why am I rambling?"

Elsa gives her a sweet smile. "Because you ramble when you're nervous." She reaches for Anna's hand in a gesture of comfort and interlaces their fingers together as she says, "I would love to go. There's no way I'm missing this if you want me there."

Anna lets out a tiny and relieved 'yay.'

"And if your parents _do_ come," Elsa continues, "it's up to you how you want us to be around each other. If you're too scared to tell them yet we can pretend to be friends, or if you're not, then I'll grope you all over that violet gown they make you guys wear. Either way, I'm with you."

The redhead sitting across from her looks at her with an expression Elsa hasn't quite seen before. While it reminisces the times where they've both been caught in a moment built on affection, this time around it holds a profundity that makes Elsa get lost in it.

In a second, however, it is gone. "It's your birthday," Anna states.

"It is."

"I don't wanna brood on your birthday."

_Tell that to Konstantin freaking Levin,_ she thinks. "Let's not, then."

With a grin Anna wipes out her previous mood. "I got you a present."

Before she can ask what it is, the redhead has begun pulling out of her bag a small box wrapped in a Christmas-themed foil ("Don't mind the paper, it's the only one they sell these days.") It weights so light that Elsa briefly wonders if it's just a joke, but when Anna urges her to open it with excited, wide eyes she brushes the idea aside.

The moment she opens it she frowns in confusion. All there is in the box is a small packet of:

"Seeds."

"Yes!" Anna claps, ecstatic. "Okay, so it all started because I wanted to give you flowers today. But then I realized, flowers die. And I don't wanna give you something dead for your birthday. So I thought, what if I gave you something _alive._ I mean seeds aren't alive yet, but they will be. All we have to do is plant them when spring comes. They're very pretty, you'll see..."

She stares at Anna then at the packet of seeds. Not only is this the loveliest present she's ever received; it also has Anna's signature quirkiness scribbled all over it. A bouquet of flowers? Pfft. That's for amateurs.

Elsa can't exactly climb over the table and kiss Anna with all her might but what she can do, and does, is grab her hand again and kiss it with as much gratitude and as much affection as she can muster.

"I love it," she says.

The thought of her parents hasn't crossed Elsa's mind since the moment she opened the door to find Anna on the other side. No, emotions certainly don't mirror each other. But Elsa would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that having this girl celebrate her birthday with so much dedication hasn't made her heart feel as plenteous as the times when grief wasn't a part of her life.

* * *

Somewhere in between Elsa's shower, and Rapunzel and Anna's choreography to Whitney Houston's _I Wanna Dance with Somebody_ , it begins to snow. Faintly at first, like feathers falling from the sky. Then thickly, until the concrete of the sidewalks begins to be covered in white.

Elsa realizes two things during this time: one, that Anna added to Rapunzel is like sugar added to a kid. And two, that she has never once danced as freely as she is right now. She's let go entirely of the longing she felt in the middle of the night so that it could be replaced by a contagious sense of freedom that's only surpassed when she climbs on top of the couch. Whitney is blasting through the speakers of their television, Anna is singing to her with the remote control as a makeshift mic and Rapunzel is in the kitchen doing who knows what with a spoon and a frying pan. All is right in the world and Elsa is having the best birthday in years.

In the end, it takes them almost double the time to get ready, which means that they have to nearly run through slippery streets to catch the train on time.

Forty minutes and one transfer later the girls arrive at their destination. They were supposed to meet the guys by the globe sculpture twenty minutes ago but neither girl seems too concerned by the tardiness. Even less concerned, however, is the duo they find leaning on the rail that delineates the exit of the station because they're too focused on the game Eugene is playing on his phone.

Kristoff hugs her first. His encompassing arms travel around her shoulders with a familiarity that Elsa finds herself returning. He is holding a gift bag in his hand that he says will not be delivered to her until they sit down for dinner. When Eugene hugs her next, he does so with affection too, albeit without the exuberant freedom that Kristoff has; the man is too suave for that. 

Much to Anna's insistence that no one gets to choose but Elsa, they go ice skating first, then dinner.

Treading through the paths of Central Park in the snow isn't something to take for granted. And neither is it something that gets old. It's a world within a world; it takes you out of the hustle of the city and into a realm where white covers the green lawns of spring and flakes fall softly on the ponds meant for romance during summer. It is both idyllic and serene, but what makes it worth it is the people you choose to share these moments with. And tonight, Elsa thinks she's chosen well. Never has she felt so close to so many people at once. To her cousin, running after her boyfriend with a snowball in hand; to Kristoff and Eugene, both of whom have taken her in with undemanding and boyish ease, and to Anna, the source of Elsa's dreamiest of smiles and the main actor behind this whole plan.

She sees them all and knows it; she's chosen right.

Eventually, the group makes it to the ice rink before finding a spot where they can put their skates on. It is here that Kristoff bumps her shoulder while the two get ready on the bench they're sharing.

"You got her real smitten," he whispers.

Elsa looks at him in confusion. Humility aside, she had a feeling already but... "Why?"

Kristoff's brown eyes light up with his grin, "Because she sucks at skating."

_Wait what?_

"What?" She looks over at the redhead. 

Indeed, poor Anna sucks at even putting her ice skates on. She is laughing nervously at something Rapunzel is saying, oblivious to her distress, but she is clearly relieved when the brunette leaves her by herself to deal with whatever Eugene is trying to stick into one of the lockers they've rented.

"Last time I saw her skate she spent more time kissing the ice than being upright," she hears Kristoff say.

Elsa watches her for a moment while she rushes to finish with her skates. As soon as she is done she excuses herself and treads over to Anna, who's managed to go as far as getting one foot inside. She is so focused on her task that she misses the blonde until she is crouching in front of her.

"Hey," Elsa whispers.

"Hi!"

"Want me to help you?"

Anna cringes, "Was I really obvious?"

Elsa smiles tenderly, "A little... Here," she reaches for the foot that's already in the skate and places it between her legs. "So you got the first step done. Now you have to make sure you tighten a bit the laces here," she pulls the strings from toes to ankle, "Then you gotta secure the top of the ankle... This is the most important part because if you don't, you'll twist it and I don't want us to spend the rest of my birthday at the ER." This draws a chuckle from the girl, and she continues, pulling at the laces dexterously until she reaches the top. "When you get to the hooks here all you gotta do is swing them down and over to the other side..." She finishes demonstrating the process to Anna in silence, making sure the double-knotted bow is tightly secured inside the boot.

Once she's done she looks up at Anna, who might as well not have been listening to a thing she just said because she is looking down at her with an enamored expression that makes Elsa blush.

She stands up slowly on wobbly legs, giving herself the opportunity to dissimulate her rosy cheeks. She then goes to sit next to the redhead on the bench.

"Thank you," Anna tells her.

Elsa responds with a kiss on the cheek. "Don't thank me yet, you still have to do the other one on your own."

Anna looks down at the offending skate before huffing with determination. Albeit slowly, she shows Elsa that even if she wasn't looking she was at least listening.

"Anna?"

"What's up?"

"You don't know how to skate do you?"

Anna halts midway through tying the laces around the hooks before she straightens up to look at Elsa. She smiles sideways, slightly embarrassed. "Not really..."

Elsa's heart leaves her in that moment to find a haven in Anna's hands. This girl knew how much Elsa loved to skate; she knew it was customary of her to do it on or around her birthday; she knew her parents had taught her. And now, even if she sucks at it and can probably never stand upright for longer than a minute, she's chosen to do it out of pure, unselfish reasons. She is willing to kiss ice and embarrass herself in front of most people just so that Elsa can enjoy her birthday doing something she loved.

Inexplicably so, this drives her to bring her gloved hands up to Anna's cheeks and squeeze until her lips are puckered.

"You have no idea how lucky I am to have you in my life."

She could say many other things that don't dare come out of her mouth yet, but for now, this is enough. Her hold loosens until she's all but cradling her girlfriend's face. A thumb graces her freckled cheek and, without waiting for Anna to reply, Elsa leans in for a kiss. Its tenderness feels different; it feels like a statement. 

When they separate, Anna responds with a dopey smile before she places her own hands atop Elsa's and whispers: "Ditto..."

"Now kiss."

Rapunzel interrupts with a hand on each of their heads while Elsa has to duck away to prevent her from bumping them together. 

"Let's go, love birds," Eugene exclaims from behind the brunette. Both guys are laughing behind her grinning cousin so there's little they can do other than brush the moment away. 

When they reach the edge of the ice rink Elsa checks in with Anna. What she finds in her teal eyes is a hesitation she wishes she could erase with physical touch.

"I won't let go of you unless you ask me to," she tells her.

They begin slowly, going more at Anna's pace than Elsa's. She tries to do her best imitation of the blonde's movement by carefully sliding rather than tromping her feet on the ice, even though every other step she deals with the risk of falling on her ass. Lap after lap, Anna holds onto Elsa's hand with dissipating fear until she reaches a point where she can at least go a few meters without flapping her arms around. Through it all Elsa ghosts her hand beneath Anna's, taking care that if she falls, she doesn't fall alone.

The last few laps she does by herself after Anna insists on it. She wants her to enjoy the actual act of skating and not of teaching, so the redhead lets her be before she goes off to hang onto Kristoff's hips while he does all the work of leading them through the ice. The falling snow has begun to subside, leaving nothing but soft specks on her face. As she slides, Elsa looks at her friends, at her girlfriend, then at the skyline of the city they all live in. She relishes each second that passes by as she tries to preserve the details of this picture in her memory, oblivious yet of the fact that this will be a moment too distressing to recall in the future.

Almost as soon as they're over, Kristoff approaches her with Anna hanging in tow. 

"So I was telling feisty pants over here that I'm trying to convince my father to let us stay at his upstate house for a few days during the summer."

"That would be nice... You guys deserve a break." 

"You're coming too!" Anna yells from behind them.

Kristoff chuckles. "Yeah, that's the whole point. It'll be cool if the five of us can go."

"Okay," she smiles. "I'm in."

The boy bumps his fists up in the air before herding the group towards the exit of the rink, all the while exclaiming that it is time for sushi and drinks.

Making their way to the place Anna and Elsa have chosen is not an easy task. They get lost in the paths of the park after Kristoff insists he knows a shortcut, so in reality it takes them twenty more minutes than it would have if they had taken the street side route. 

The restaurant resembles a Japanese tea house with warm hues lighting the honey-colored panels that cover its floor and its walls. The group is sat on a booth in an area adjacent to the main room, something that ends up being an unforeseen strategy because once alcohol is placed on their table all formalities fly out the window.

As soon as they place their food orders, Eugene and Kristoff give Elsa the present they've been alternatively holding onto since they met up. Out of its bag Elsa pulls a baby blue cashmere sweater that they've both chipped in for. She regards it with genuine surprise. It is such a guy thing to do, for it is practical, cute and slightly clueless. But the fact that they're looking at her with childish expectation after giving her something like this and not a Hallmark card bought at the pharmacy is, well, kind of adorable. Elsa loves the sweater and she tells them so. 

After she carefully puts it back in the bag, Rapunzel lifts her glass of beer and calls for a toast. 

"The first time I met Elsa I was two," she begins once they settle down. "I have no idea how that encounter went—"

"You drooled all over my back," the blonde quips.

"As I was _saying..._ My first real memory with Elsa happened about two years after this, when I fell into the depression of finding out Santa wasn't real." At this, Anna's eyes widen in recognition before she turns to look at Elsa; the blonde smirks knowingly at her. "That's when I started to realize how selfless and loving, and bossy and stupidly smart she can be. Since then, Elsa's stuck around as the person I rely on the most, so I wanna cheer for that... for having another year with her by my side. I'm glad that you guys are here today, cause honestly y'all were missing out before. Especially you, Anna. This girl is starting to disturb me with how much I catch her smiling when she thinks no one's looking." 

Elsa covers her face with the hand that isn't holding her small cup of sake. "Can we drink now?" She mutters. She can hear Anna laughing next to her before the girl drops a kiss on her cheek.

Rapunzel spares Elsa further embarrassment and they cheer to her.

The night prolongs itself with beer and sake and more beer, until Eugene neglects his smooth persona to imitate Kristoff's flamboyant ex-girlfriend and Rapunzel forgets how to use chopsticks. After a while, Anna begins fumbling with her hand beneath the table.

"Come home with me," she whispers in her ear.

Elsa looks at her to see if she's meant it. Mixing alcohol has softened her otherwise unreserved personality but Elsa can still find an unwavering determination in her eyes. 

There's nothing for her to consider. Funny business aside, this could be the perfect ending to her birthday. So she nods.

* * *

Anna's studio is cozier than her own. There's stacks of notebooks on her desk, stacks of books on her shelf and a single journal left on her emerald-colored bed. Posters of nerdy jokes about Shakespeare and Jane Austen cover her walls, and on the area closest to her window hangs a cork board with pinned pictures of her, Kristoff, Eugene and the rest of her college friends. There is also Anna as a kid; piggy-tailed and sporting toothy grins that still resemble her now. Unsurprisingly, there isn't but one picture with her parents on what appears to be a sailboat. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes in this one and Elsa has a feeling it is because, even though she's sitting between them, she looks alone.

Elsa turns around to inquire about the photos on the board but Anna is nowhere to be found.

A light beckons her to the bathroom and that's where she finds her girlfriend, sitting on the floor and struggling to take her rainbow mid-calf socks off.

"What are you doing?" 

"Shower," Anna mutters.

"I'm not sure a shower is a good idea right now." She wants to tell her that if she takes her jeans off it'll be easier to get her socks out but decides against it. 

Anna finally succeeds with a grunt. She looks up at Elsa, eyes glossy and full of mischief. "I Googled that—" She stares into space. "What did I Google?"

The blonde arches her eyebrow at her.

"Right, I checked an'it said if you shower you get sober."

She highly doubts that's true. "Anna, a shower doesn't make you less drunk. That's a myth."

Anna grins slowly at her.

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"Nope."

Elsa leans against the door frame. "Okay fine, take that shower, but I'll stay in the room with you."

"Why?" She asks suggestively.

_Because you're not gonna sober up with a shower so I need to make sure you don't fall, you hardheaded woman._

"To keep you company."

Anna snickers, "A'ight, suit yourself."

It is the movement of a drunken sloth which Anna performs astonishingly well. She has to hold onto the wall while Elsa steps closer in case she needs it, but something tells her that Anna's determination increases when she's drunk so she lets her be. She's scared of the answer but she offers anyways: "Do you need help getting out of your clothes?"

The redhead leers at her. "Will there be happy ending?"

"Not when you're this drunk, sweetheart."

Anna considers this for a split second. "Nah. Turn around."

So she is determined, bossy and incredibly flirty when she's drunk; Elsa can work with that. She doesn't turn back around to go sit on the lid of the toilet until after she hears the water running and the curtain sliding twice, indicating that Anna is inside.

"I still don't know why you had to mix beer with sake," she tells her. Anna is beginning to sing a tune she can't recognize.

"I dunno either."

_Well, okay, that solves it doesn't it?_

Elsa had opted for water after the third sake but the redhead chose to keep on going once Eugene began flirting with her competitive side. Hence, the two of them being the drunkest of the night. 

"I think I'm done," Anna announces after she's done with her song.

When the water stops running the blonde turns her head upwards. She really doesn't want to see Anna naked right now. Call her old-fashioned, a prude or just a decent human being, but Elsa blatantly refuses to take advantage of Anna's current inebriation. That includes ogling her, no matter how much she wishes she could.

The willpower that Elsa immediately demonstrates should be dully noted and passed on as a legend for generations to come, because Anna doesn't go to her room to change; she sits on her lap with nothing but the towel she is wrapped in. The fabric is riding up her thighs while remaining tied just above her breasts. Anna's copper hair has turned a shade darker from the water, which goes on dripping and dripping, until Elsa can do nothing but follow the drops that leave her tresses and temptingly fall across her freckled chest and into the space between her breasts. Elsa struggles to swallow the lump that's formed in her throat. She toys with her sanity at this, but she cannot prevent herself any longer from touching Anna in some form. So she allows herself to place her hands on Anna's naked thighs. They are silky smooth to the touch, and Elsa squeezes with wanton while heat begins to build inside her very core.

In a sensuous move, Anna trails her hands up her forearms, leaving a trace of goosebumps behind. "I want you," she whispers.

Elsa squeezes her thighs harder this time. She _prays_ for an ironclad hold on the towel because she's not sure she'll be able to contain herself if it comes undone. The issue is still the same, however. Anna is most likely still drunk.

"Did that shower help?" She mutters.

The redhead's hands travel to the knot of her towel and pausing, she asks, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Elsa is near combustion but there's enough reasoning left in her mind to halt the mischievous hands. "Anna. I can't do this with you if you're still drunk."

Anna huffs, dropping her hands on her lap and slouching in defeat. "I might be," she admits. "I dunno... I'm buzzed, I think."

"Okay..."

The fact that they're discussing this while sitting on the toilet is slightly ridiculous but neither girl makes a move to take this conversation into the bedroom. Elsa is snaking her hands around Anna's waist to keep her from slouching away from her.

"You have no idea what you're making me feel right now," she confesses. "But if you're drunk or buzzed, I don't want you to do something that you'll wish tomorrow you had waited for instead."

Anna lets her forehead bump against Elsa's. "Why do you have to be so maddy respectful?"

"You mean madly?"

"That."

"I dunno."

She risks an innocent kiss that Anna corresponds the same way. "Tell me what you want tonight and I'll give it to you," Elsa breathes against her lips.

She can feel the redhead shiver slightly before hugging her tighter. The smell of Anna's sweet shampoo is becoming intoxicating. There's a tugging sensation going on between her legs while her hands keep craving for the freedom to roam over Anna's naked skin... If only she hadn't had so much goddamn sake.

"Can we make out at least?" Anna asks sheepily.

This, Elsa can grant with gusto but not here; her legs are beginning to cramp up. First, though, she needs to find out: "Is your towel wrapped tight?"

Anna frowns with bewilderment but checks anyways. "Yeah, why—"

In a swift movement that makes her squeal, Elsa's left arm shifts to the underside of her thigh in an attempt to guide her legs around her waist. There's a driving strength she didn't know she had, perhaps because it is being fueled by maddening lust. She becomes, right there and then, a woman with a purpose, and that is to make Anna sit on the edge of the bed while she looks for pajamas. 

The redhead looks like a toddler waiting to be dressed while Elsa pulls out of a drawer a pair of shorts and the Columbia sweatshirt she snuck out of her place the day after their Thanksgiving dinner. For herself, a worn-out NYU shirt (to return the favor tomorrow morning) and gray pants that reach above her ankles. Again, she turns around to let Anna dress and waits for longer than should be necessary due to the inebriated state that turns the most banal of things into arduous tasks.

By the time she heads to the bathroom and comes back changed Anna is waiting for her beneath the covers. Her desire hasn't dissipated, but now that she knows where they're heading tonight she's allowed the tenderness she feels for Anna take over. It takes no longer than a few seconds for her to crawl in until she's hovering on top of the redhead, taking the time to look at her features covered in the moonlight that seeps through the window. The glossiness that covers her eyes doesn't do much to hide her expectation or her longing, but Elsa cannot bring herself to do anything other than stare; Anna is breathtaking.

"Elsa?"

"Hmm?"

"You're very pretty."

She grins. The kiss she gives her is a gesture packed with everything she's felt throughout the day. The happiness, the desire, the gratitude; the overwhelming sensation that here, in her arms, is someone capable of awakening in her heart a feeling of love greater than anything she's felt before. 

She kisses Anna with her entire heart, and in Anna's gentle pull at her waist, she begins to feel the same.


	9. Matters of the body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give myself the time to go over all of your reviews and thank you in person. Meanwhile, I thank you ALL. Your comments and your appreciation mean a hell of a lot. 
> 
> Anyways, two things: one, I feel like I must give you a fair warning and tell you that, while I don't do explicit smut, there's still a few steamy scenes in here. And two, this is a double update so whether you jump straight onto the next one or you got stuff to do, just keep in mind chapter 10 is up too.
> 
> Been forgetting the disclaimer. Sorry, Disney. That's for kicking me out of your park last year.
> 
> Enjoy!

Anna wakes up the morning after with no splitting headache whatsoever.

The sun is shining through her window, although it gives nothing away in regards to the time of the day. She looks for Elsa by her side and finds the space empty; cold. It is hard to concentrate for some reason but she decides to attribute this to the fact that she's just beginning to wake up. Anna slowly scans her room for any sign of her girlfriend but there's none. It's as if she never stayed the night at all. But then, her attention shifts focus. Her sense of hearing overtakes, allowing her to identify the faint sound of running water that is coming from the bathroom. Well then, there's no trace of Elsa anywhere but she _is_ here. She must be. Otherwise Anna's screwed and done for because she cannot, for the life of her, see anything nearby that she can use to defend herself with. The water stops, and so does her breathing. It must be cloudy outside because her room's suddenly turned a shade darker.

The door to the bathroom opens, but nothing and nobody comes out except for the scant steam that's accumulated from the hot shower somebody just took in there. _Elsa, please be Elsa._ She pulls the covers up with trembling hands until she's revealing nothing but her eyes.

"Anna?"

The relief is immediate. It is Elsa's voice.

In the same way that she cannot determine the time of the day, Anna cannot determine how it is that her body has dragged her out of the bed and towards the beckoning voice inside the bathroom. What she does know is that she's showed up at the door to find Elsa wrapped in her towel; platinum blonde hair akin to wet tendrils dripping across her half-covered chest.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she murmurs.

Anna stares on. She notices that Elsa hasn't bothered to dry the skin of her body because she can see the droplets scattered across her arms and her collarbone reflecting the lights of her modest bathroom.

"You okay there?" Elsa asks.

Her deep blue eyes are shining with curiosity and fascination, and suddenly Anna wants nothing but to sweep her off her feet and take her back to bed. Is there a mighty word that she hasn't used yet to describe Elsa? Royal, graceful, ethereal, beautiful. Celestial comes to mind right now. Yes... The whiteness of her towel brings out the milky complexion of the blonde's skin, and Anna could _swear_ she witnessed a bright hue radiating from her body just now.

_What the hell was in that sake?_

Anna shakes her head slowly, dumbly. She cannot keep herself from staring at Elsa's body and imagining just what lays beneath that towel. Her feet move involuntarily and her hands twitch by her sides with the desire to remove the offending garment so that they can finally navigate freely over Elsa's breasts, across her belly and down towards that spot between her legs. She is being submerged in lust and the only way she can break free from it is by making the girl standing in front of her scream out her name in pleasure.

"Anna..." Her voice carries such a lascivious and inviting tone that she finally drags her eyes up to meet Elsa's. "What are you thinking?"

"About the things you make me feel..."

Elsa beckons her closer, giving Anna the opportunity to gently pin her against the wall.

"What things?" Elsa asks.

"Things I'd rather show you," she whispers. 

"Then do it."

Elsa is taking the redhead in with heavy-lidded eyes just as her hand goes up to rest on the knot she's made to wrap the towel around herself. All it needs is a gentle pull for Anna to come undone and because of this, she takes over. Her lips clash against Elsa's as soon as she tugs at the towel and lets it pool around her feet. It is the physical yearning in Anna that is blindly driving her to push Elsa against the wall while her hands caress every inch of skin she can reach. She begins at her waist, her thumbs ghosting over the hipbones she soon finds. The way she squeezes with eagerness is making Elsa moan into her mouth and sending wave after wave of heat towards her center. She allows herself to get lost in the sensation of Elsa's body; the lines of her back, the curvature of her ass. Anna can't get any closer to her and yet, she needs more. She becomes wetter each time her tongue grazes languidly against the blonde's and each time she feels her bare, panting chest against her own.

A loud ringing starts to resonate in her head the moment her lips begin to travel from Elsa's jawline to her neck, where she sucks at the pulse point until it elicits a moan that makes her quiver. Elsa forcefully halts the hand that was finally making its way up to her breasts, fingernails lightly scratching at the skin of her flat belly all along, and Anna pulls her hungry lips away from her neck with a protest that is muted as soon as she finds Elsa's cheeks flushed and her eyes screaming with desire.

"Down," she whispers before slowly pushing Anna's hand south towards that sweet spot between her legs.

Then everything goes black.

Anna snorts herself awake before she stares at the ceiling wide-eyed and stunningly aroused. A car's alarm is going off right outside her window. Her head feels like it's splitting in half.

"Son of a—," she groans the rest into her pillow.

This is the best and the worst dream she's ever had in her twenty-one years on this planet. She wants to scream out in frustration but the hangover she's now having to put up with prevents her from doing anything other than lie down like a corpse. And where _is_ Elsa? Oh, if only she were in the shower right now! But there is not a single sound coming from the bathroom. Mirroring her dream, she scans the room but the only thing she finds is a piece of paper stuck to the cover of a book that's been placed on a standing position atop her bedside table. Elsa must have known she would need something that seemed out of place for her to notice it.

The action of reaching towards it is strenuous, but the sexual frustration she's still bathed in is even worse. Propped on her elbow, she reads the note Elsa's left behind with neat handwriting:

_Can't believe you have no Ibuprofen,_ it reads.

_Went to the pharmacy to get some for your stubborn head and then breakfast._

_Need to restock your fridge._

_Won't be long._

It finishes with a drawn heart and a U that causes Anna to bite her lip and throw herself back on the bed like she's just read the sweetest of love letters. A mistake, really. The movement spreads the pain all over her head, forcing her to remain on a horizontal position until Elsa arrives; which could also be considered a mistake, because the lack of something to do leaves her with the unwarranted opportunity to re-imagine her lustful dream.

Anna considers finishing the job on her own but the idea is fleeting and the desire futile. There's a hammer pounding away at her forehead and she highly doubts she would be able to have the mind-blowing sex that she's been looking forward to lately, even if Elsa were here right now.

Then she recalls the events of last night and finds that her current predicament must be at least partly her fault. _She_ is the one who showered last night and _she_ is the one who tempted Elsa with a towel. She's the one who led the two of them straight into a horny oblivion and then chose not to deliver because she was too buzzed and Elsa was right, she would have regretted it. If only somewhat, because even though she could never regret experiencing intimacy for the first time with Elsa, it would have been harder for her to fully enjoy the moment with alcohol coursing through her veins.

But what a night it was, regardless. There might be a few gaps in Anna's memories but she reminisces what she felt even if she can't always remember the exact thing that caused it. There's the fragments of a conversation they had in the bizarre setting of her bathroom, the hard time she gave Elsa by sitting on her lap, as well as the exhilaration that derived from the thought that all she had to do was tug at the corners of her godforsaken towel. The sense of importance, of being protected by Elsa; from what, who knows? All she remembers is that she felt cared for in a way she hadn't exactly felt before. And then there were their kisses; so full of passion, of momentum. In them was something that went deeper than the superficiality found in mere physical attraction between two people, something that Anna could _feel_ last night but wasn't able to explain today.

She hears keys jingling and then the turning of a lock before her door opens quietly, so as to keep the noise to a bare minimum. Given the miniature size of her apartment she can see Elsa walk in without having to move an inch from the bed.

"Hi!" She croaks.

Elsa turns to look at her after she closes and locks the door. She is holding two brown paper bags in one hand and Anna's keys in the other one. Her smile is instantaneous upon the sight of the tousled-haired girl.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

_Oh God, don't call me that._

The thought of Elsa naked and wrapped in her towel invades her mind once more but the blonde, being oblivious to her struggle, doesn't wait around for a reply.

She heads to the counter before placing the brown bags on top and getting the clear water jug that Anna keeps in the fridge so that she can serve it in a mug that says _Shakespeare is my homeboy_. The banality of her actions are amiss with the way Anna is used to living alone in her own apartment. However, the sensation isn't unwelcome. In fact, it makes her appreciate Elsa's company even more. Because there is no pretense in their relationship, be it romantic or platonic. Not once, since they met, has there been a moment in which Anna has felt as if Elsa were trying too hard to impress her with her actions. It's always been just her; plain, lovely Elsa, who brings chocolate cakes to her workplace, who introduces her to the old people she hangs out with and who teaches her how to tie her skates. Elsa, who takes care of her on a morning after heavy drinking, and who respects and cares for her enough that she refuses to give in to her own desires until Anna is fully consenting.

The blonde walks over to her carrying the mug and a teasing smile on her face. As she sits on the edge of the bed, she hands the water to Anna and pulls a bottle of blue capsules out of the pocket of her coat. She opens it and drops two on Anna's hand.

"How are you feeling?"

Well, the headache is still pretty much there and she is drinking the water with more desperation than a castaway in the Sahara.

"You may or may not be talking to a corpse right now," she says once she's done chugging with thirst-driven madness.

Elsa chuckles. She takes the empty mug from the redhead and steps away to refill it. It is during the process of gulping down her second round that Elsa hangs her coat by the door so that she can lie down with Anna for a few minutes.

"I was going to cook something for you but all you have is cereal, coffee, popcorn and pasta."

Anna places the mug next to the book Elsa placed there this morning as she declares, "That is the life of a bachelor, dear." 

"If I remember correctly, you stopped being a bachelor about a month ago."

"Old habits die hard?"

Elsa tsks. "We're going grocery shopping later today."

"But why!?" This is much too far from where she wanted this day to go. She'll refuse anything that requires stepping farther than her apartment door.

"Because you need actual, adult food, Anna. Now scoot over."

Anna does so petulantly and slowly, afraid that too much movement will make her neurons go all Kamikaze on her brain again. "Coffee is an adult food," she grumbles.

Allowing Elsa to spoon her casts away all of her thoughts except for one. Her inconclusive sex dream keeps buzzing around in her head like a fly that won't go away.

"So... how did you sleep last night?" She asks.

"I slept... good."

Anna notices the tentativeness in her reply and inquires about it, albeit distractedly because Elsa is nuzzling that little spot behind her ear that's starting to become a favorite of hers.

"I had a hard time falling asleep," Elsa confesses a few seconds later.

"Why?"

There's a pause in which Elsa hugs her tighter from behind, as if reliving the tension neither one could find a release from last night.

"Because I couldn't stop thinking about you."

An interesting choice of words. After all, Anna was passed out right next to her, but she gets the gist of it so she leaves that joke for another time. Still, this doesn't stop her from wanting Elsa to elaborate further, if only because she's a martyr and wants to increase the sexual frustration she cannot yet fulfill.

_Fucking sake._

"About me how?"

Elsa responds not in words, but in actions. The excruciatingly tantalizing hand that was once resting between the mattress and Anna's waist now makes its way up and across her belly before wriggling beneath her sweatshirt (it is now hers, she's declared). So far it's sort of okay, Anna figures. Not too bad, not too tempting. But this doesn't last long and she curses her own teasing nature because Elsa snatches the upper hand the moment her fingernails scratch lightly at the skin just above the hem of her shorts. Not a single sound exists in the room other than Anna's increasingly staccato and Elsa's deep, concentrated breaths while the blonde's fingertips begin to brush over her navel hotly, unhurriedly. With every inch Elsa covers Anna grows wetter, but she cannot bring herself to move; she is petrified by Elsa's touch.

And then, like the second right before free falling, Anna holds her breath, for Elsa has reached the curvatures of her breasts.

Her body succumbs to a small shiver as it waits for Elsa to do something, _anything._ But what she does is the opposite of what Anna needs: she pulls the hand from underneath her sweatshirt, causing the redhead to gasp both at the sudden loss and the nerve of this girl.

Elsa hugs her tight again. "Our sandwiches are getting cold," she whispers in her ear.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

She doesn't. She really, _really_ doesn't. But this is still stupidly unfair.

"That's for teasing me last night," Elsa declares.

Anna lets out a choked cry of indignation. "I am appalled that you should see my desire as a tool for your own personal vendetta."

Elsa begins laughing before she unwraps her arm around her waist and scoots towards the edge of the bed. 

"I just figured you were still too hungover to partake in any sexual activities."

She huffs. "Orgasms can help with headaches."

"Not that kind of headache."

Anna wants to wipe that smirk off her face. With a kiss preferably.

"Coffee?" Elsa asks.

She lets her have this round.

* * *

Soon after Elsa finishes her breakfast sandwich and Anna gobbles her own, they settle down on the bed to watch a movie because Anna still feels too impaired to do anything else. Or so she says. The pills kicked in eventually, and so did the caffeine, but having Elsa's chest as a pillow is something she doesn't wish to take for granted. 

She passes out, eventually, and sleeps dreamlessly in her girlfriend's arms for an amount of time she can't define until Elsa points it out.

"You slept for thirty minutes, why do you look like you slept for a whole year?"

"Hey!"

The problem is, she _does_ feel like she just slept half of her life away.

Elsa brushes her tousled bangs aside. "What you need is fresh air," she suggests.

"You're trying to get me to do groceries with you, aren't you?"

"And you know this benefits you, right? The food's for you."

Anna has no choice but to agree, albeit quietly and very much reluctantly. She finally makes a move to sit up so that she can have an eye-to-eye conversation with her girlfriend, grateful now that she doesn't feel like she would much rather chop her head off and be done with the pain.

Then, a thought occurs: "And for you too... maybe? Do you think you can spend the night again?"

She knows she's probably asking too much of Elsa but she's not planning on being anywhere near alcohol today or any time soon, so perhaps tonight could be the night. It might be a long shot but it's worth asking. Her body is practically still buzzing from her dream and Anna needs some sort of redemption at this point.

Elsa considers this for a few seconds before she says, "I have to change out of these clothes eventually."

"We can go to your place so you can get your jammies," she offers.

"And a toothbrush, _please._ "

_That sounds like a yes, right?_

"Wait, so that's why you haven't kissed me properly today!"

Elsa grins. "I'll tell you what. If we go grocery shopping, I'll stay the night."

Anna sighs before flopping back onto her side of the bed.

"Fine."

The things she does for this woman.

In the end, they plan on going to Elsa's apartment in the east before heading back west to stop by the grocery store and then to Anna's place. It's a redundant trip but the redhead understands Elsa's insistence that she's allowed to change out of the clothes she's had since the day before. She ends up showering as well while Anna and Rapunzel bond over chips in the living room, and when she comes out wearing the sweater that the boys have gifted her, Anna makes a mental note to congratulate them both on their taste; it looks marvelous on Elsa.

It takes them less time to head back west than Anna had hoped for.

The supermarket is one of those random places where Anna always ends up getting lost at. It began the day she wandered off to look at the cookie selection when she was five and the manager of the store had to call her parents through the speakers. Since then, it's become a tradition of sorts that has continued well into her adulthood. 

Granted, it's easier to get lost when you're alone. You can just pretend to be looking for something while you are lowkey trying to get to the exit, forgetting all about how you came in with a full grocery list and the sincere intentions of getting all the veggies you scribbled down this time. Although, it isn't lost, per se. She's not airheaded; Anna knows where the exit is. But she somehow always manages to get so distracted by her own thoughts that she ends up at, say, the ice cream section, even when she _swears_ she was just looking at the orange juices over there. 

Needless to say, the duty of grocery shopping tends to land a bit on the onerous side, which is why Anna focuses solely on coming in and coming out with an eclectic sort of items that in the end she can't do much with. 

Like popcorn. But popcorn is pretty great so it must be added to the cart even if it earns her a dubious side glance from her girlfriend.

"Can we get Swiss rolls too?" 

She's not really asking, the packet is already in the cart.

Elsa learns rather quickly that if she sticks to the duty of pushing the cart, Anna will get a bit carried away with the snacks. So they switch, at least until they can move past the veggies and fruits.

"Did you know pineapples can reduce hypertension?"

"And do you know what they can improve the taste of?" Anna wiggles her eyebrows.

Elsa stares at her, slowly putting the pineapple back onto the pile.

"Lewd comments aren't gonna take you very far in a supermarket, Anna," she says before moving towards the stacked boxes of strawberries.

Anna puffs a few strands away from her forehead as she leans heavily on the handle of the cart. "You're no fun," she mutters behind her back.

The comment acts like a flipping switch in Elsa's mind because she turns around with a resolution that wasn't there seconds before. Her eyes harden as she treads back and makes the provocative decision of cornering Anna between herself and the counter where the bananas are piled. Anna can't tear her eyes away from the blonde's. They're too enticing.

_We're in a supermarket!_ She wants to scream, but Elsa is already lowering her head as if to whisper something in her ear before ghosting her lips over the spot where her earlobe meets her neck. So Anna stays quiet and shudders instead, only to become flustered _again._ For what feels like the millionth time today.

The frustration makes her grab the blonde by the shoulders to prevent her from moving another inch closer to her, although Elsa still manages to leave a chaste kiss on her pulse point.

When she takes a step back, Anna is glaring at her. "Is this gonna become a new hobby of yours?"

"Just today," she teases. "But I'll stop if it actually bothers you."

Well when she puts it that way... "It doesn't bother me," she mumbles. "But it's starting to become very hard to restrain myself."

Elsa laughs softly, "Then don't. I'm staying over, remember?"

She walks away after this, holding a cluster of bananas in her hand while Anna stares dumbly at the swaying of her hips.

Forty minutes into the trip and they've added the tomatoes, the spinach, the bananas and the oranges; all sorts of food Elsa might have slightly forced her to get. There's also the snacks Anna snuck in and the basics for both breakfast and lunch. At this point, she is more than ready to go but she does, however, make a mandatory stop by her favorite corner: the cheese selection. And it's not that she's devoted to brie, gouda or cheddar. Not at all. It is that, a few months ago, Anna discovered that whoever works on making the labels for them also writes little quotes that are later printed between the dairy description and its price. Like a fortune cookie without the hassle. Hence, this being something that she's particularly excited to let Elsa in on.

"Okay, check this out," she says as she grabs a ball of plastic-wrapped mozzarella. "Your memory is only as good as your last one..." She frowns. "Well that's cryptic."

"Makes sense," Elsa adds from behind her. She's got her chin hovering over Anna's shoulder as she reaches out for a square of aged cheddar. "The best way to hide the truth is by telling it," she says.

The redhead hums, discards mozzarella for goat, then reads out loud: "Doing what you love doesn't always lead to success..."

_Looks like somebody's been having existential issues lately._

"I could agree with that one," she hears Elsa say before quietly placing the roll of goat cheese back on the counter and stepping away without the interest of reading another one. She doesn't say much until they're waiting at the checkout line. 

"So, I've been thinking that as soon as the semester begins I'm gonna start looking for internships."

"That's a good idea," Elsa affirms. "I can help you look if you want... What do you have in mind?"

"A book publishing house could be a good start," she ponders out loud as she distractedly places the groceries that Elsa is handing over onto the conveyor belt. "Or maybe I could be an editor's assistant... There will be scouts attending the graduation ceremony and whatnot, but the problem is that I don't have something lengthy enough to consider publishing. Not yet, at least." 

"You still have a few months to go," Elsa reminds her. She then takes out of the cart a bag of chocolates and frowns. She's probably wondering how it got in there in the first place but Anna doesn't offer an explanation, she simply flashes her an innocent grin that draws a chuckle out of the blonde.

"Will you have the time to write while you work and attend your last semester, though?"

Anna goes to pay the cashier, reluctantly accepting the small contribution Elsa offers with the excuse that she'll at least be eating some of those chocolates she chose to get. "I hope so?" She knows she doesn't sound too convinced but this is the first response she can muster. She also knows that finding a job in the business will open doors for her that would otherwise remain closed if she kept working as a clerk in a bookstore. At least she's being honest; she _does_ hope she'll have enough time to actually focus on her writing.

"Do you think we can go visit Theo again?" Is what she asks as soon as they walk out of the market and into the cold air of late December.

Elsa smiles fondly at her, "Of course."

She doesn't push around for a reason behind the sudden request and Anna is grateful. Out of everything she and Theo discussed, the last advice was the only thing Anna forewent mentioning to Elsa. For what reason, she's still unsure, but something tells her this is an advice that needs to be kept quietly, like a premonition you're too scared of sharing for fear that it will come true. Regardless, the reason why Anna is interested in visiting her again isn't this but rather the desire to actually get to know more about her and her life.

Something tells her there's a spark of creativity in there and Anna is set on finding it this time.

* * *

Home at last. And better yet, home with Elsa.

The blonde follows her into the apartment encased by silence and the air, this time, feels different. They place the grocery bags on the counter and the floor before discarding their coats and Anna her additional protection (she still can't get Elsa to wear a scarf half of the time, it's like she's a neanderthal when it comes to dressing up for the cold).

Anna offers to make tea while they put the groceries away and Elsa teases her with questions about her status as a so-called bachelor. Never before has she felt such joy at doing something as trivial as this but Anna seizes the moment and takes it for what it is: happiness.

After finishing in the kitchen and preparing the tea, Anna travels the short way to her bed with more than a few ideas in mind but Elsa, it seems, has a different plan because she walks over instead to the bulletin board Anna put and began filling up almost as soon as she moved to New York three years ago. She recalls buying it with the sole purpose of posting her scheduled classes, projects and writing ideas, but somewhere in between the beginning and the end of her first semester she discarded the former two and decided to substitute them with photos of her past and her present. As a result, the board turned out to be more eclectic than she had anticipated. There's a few pictures that tend to remind her of the times she was a genuinely happy child, like the first time she tried ice cream when she was four and her mother snapped a picture while half of her face was smeared with chocolate. Or the day she scored her first goal in elementary school, her knees scrapped but a huge, triumphant grin on her face.

Anna is mildly aware of the gap between childhood and college where high school was meant to be, but nothing worth remembering came out of it, not even the kiss she once shared with a classmate in the locker room. Anna was just too awkward a kid amidst the jungle that tends to crown popular girls and dimwitted jocks to really feel like she could fit in.

But then college happened, and Kristoff and the rest of the gang happened with it. There's the commemorating picture she took during their first New Year's Eve—half of it blurred out because she was too drunk to keep the camera straight—, pinned right next to a slightly altered, scribbled-down quote from Coates that says that the craft of writing is the art of thinking. There's also the one that never fails to make her snort, of the time Kristoff and herself lost a bet to Shang and had to dress up as each other for Halloween. Anna could have made for a handsome, blondish guy but Kristoff... well, no one will ever be able to say that he didn't at least try to pull off the look of a redheaded, piggy-tailed and freckled girl. This is the picture Elsa is pointing at right now, failing to conceal her boastful laughter with her free hand.

It takes a couple of minutes for Elsa to recover but even after she does Anna finds herself still looking at her with a crooked smile on her face. She rarely sees the blonde laugh this hard so the sight is precious to her.

"I couldn't manage to see all the pictures last night. You have quite the collection here."

Anna snorts. "I don't know what I was thinking with half of these but I guess they sum up my life pretty well."

Elsa hums and takes a sip of the tea she's still holding before she points at the picture of her and her parents. As with the rest, Anna tells her the short story behind it. It was taken during the summer when she was ten. Her dad had wanted to rent a sailboat while they went on a half vacation, half work trip to California; a trip which Anna spent silently brooding over because there were barely any kids around and her parents were being... well, her parents.

"I was bored during half of that trip but I don't have that many pictures with them and that one is the least cringy."

"Do you miss them sometimes?" 

Anna looks for an answer in the picture. Her mother is laughing in it, caught in the middle of preventing her hat from blowing away while Anna and her father sport oblivious smiles. She remembers that same hat flying off with the wind not too long after the photo was taken and how she had stared at her mother anticipating an outburst at the loss. Instead, she had laughed. A full-belly, contagious laugh that her father mirrored and lead Anna to do the same, if anything because that day she got to share with them something she rarely could.

"I do," she finally states.

"Maybe it's a good thing they're coming to your graduation then."

"Ah, yes..." She keeps purposefully forgetting about that.

Elsa throws her arm over her shoulder before she kisses her temple. "I promise I'll behave."

"Based on how you've been acting today I'm starting to believe the opposite."

Elsa chuckles. 

They're standing in front of her little collection of memories like patrons at a museum, and Anna is beginning to wonder how much longer they'll have to stay around and pretend that they've understood the artist's concept before moving on. Elsa then points at the area on the lower left corner that's yet to be covered with notes or photos: "Maybe I can go here."

It is said so unassumingly, as if she is suggesting something that Anna may or may not agree to do. What she doesn't know is that Anna would rather get an entirely new board and fill it all with moments by her side.

She turns to face her fully at this moment, lost in the way Elsa's blue eyes shimmer with soothing placidity. "You will," she tells her.

The air shifts again, and Anna's had enough of her own board. She tugs at the hand that's resting by her left shoulder before lifting it up and around to guide Elsa towards the bed. Her heart is acting up weird, or it might not be her heart at all; she's not the doctor. But there's a bit of trepidation going on inside her chest. It feels heavy with anticipation and she's having a hard time taking deep breaths.

Anna is nervous.

She wishes she had the same confidence she had in her dream when she pinned Elsa against the wall. Yet, she can only go as far as making the blonde sit down, grabbing the mug from her hand and placing it next to her own neglected one on the nightstand.

What's next? She wants to ask, but Elsa reads it easily in the way she fidgets with her hands and silently guides Anna so that she can straddle her lap while she's still sitting on the edge of the bed. Anna's only leverage are the shoulders around which she wraps her arms.

"Remember when you showed up at Columbia a couple of months ago?" Elsa asks. 

The question throws her off. "Yeah..?"

"And you texted me pretty much saying you were right outside."

Anna nods as she begins stroking the back of Elsa's neck. The girl's hold of her waist is steady and comforting.

"I tripped twice on my way out," Elsa admits.

" _You_ tripped."

She laughs softly, "I did. I was very nervous."

Anna giggles before resting her forehead against the blonde's. Mighty graceful Elsa tripped on her way to see _her._

"What I'm trying to say is, it's okay to be nervous," Elsa adds, "I think it comes with feeling... a lot, for somebody. And, I mean, I'm no sex expert but I obviously know that being intimate for the first time can be scary and intimidating, unless you're drunk and don't know half of the things you're doing, or unless you're doing it with someone who doesn't mean that much to you in the first pla—"

Anna cuts her off with her hand, and her eyes shine in surprise.

After removing it, she leans down to capture Elsa's lips with her own in a swift action that causes the blonde to gasp for air through her nose. Anna's hands go up to cradle her face while she nibbles at Elsa's lip in search for an invitation. The moment their tongues meet, Anna begins to feel the slow ignition of desire growing inside of her. 

Her hips buckle almost involuntarily, encouraged by the pair of hands holding onto her waist with a craving that the redhead can feel upon every squeeze. She knows the position isn't exactly ideal, not when they're still clad in jeans and sweaters that are starting to become overly burdensome. But Anna cannot separate herself from Elsa; she's a magnet; a positive to her negative, and Anna can only bow down to its inevitability. 

Although, why is her sweater so _damn tight?_ She needs out of it, now, but it seems like Elsa is already a step ahead because she is tugging at it with a lustful desperation that Anna reciprocates when she takes it off and discards it without looking. 

The action forces a pause between kisses that allows Anna to take in the girl before her. Elsa's cheeks are tinted in red and the pupils swimming in her crystal blue irises are dilated. They are looking at her with an intensity that makes Anna feel vulnerable.

"Are you okay?" Elsa whispers.

"Yeah," she breathes. "I'm just—getting lost in you."

Elsa smiles tenderly, "Don't lose yourself for me."

Anna shakes her head while an indescribable feeling tugs at her heart. The kiss they share develops slower this time. It is no more an insistent explosion of passion but a sensuous path towards the edge of pleasure that is expressed in the way Anna threads her fingers through blonde tresses, and in the way Elsa's hands roam freely over her back and her shoulder blades; as if they were memorizing by touch every inch of Anna's skin before they settle, and stop, above the clasp of her bra.

Elsa pecks the corner of her mouth once before checking in with her.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

There is no more hesitation and no longer a pause between the second Elsa unclasps her bra and the moment she lifts her up to settle her across the bed.

Anna can't help the little laugh that escapes her, "You're freakishly strong." 

Elsa grins. "A whole day of pent-up sexual frustration can do wonders for your strength... Highly recommended, though," she says before taking off her sweater and letting it join Anna's on the floor.

"That is a very weird thing to say," Anna laughs.

"Says the person who's way too familiar with weirdness."

Where does banter fit in every fantasy Anna's ever had about her first time? Nowhere, really. But it succeeds magnificently at brushing away the remains of her nervousness and allowing the affection and the desire she feels for the blonde take over.

The contrast of the black lace bra against the skin of Elsa's torso makes her bite her lip before reaching out to touch. Her own bra is finally discarded in the action, forcing Elsa to pause midway through the tying of her hair. Anna doesn't pause, however, when she sits up to unclasp the garment. After following the curves of the blonde's breasts with her eyes, she braves the first caress that causes Elsa to arch her back into the touch. 

Elsa straddles her then, chasing after her lips with a renewed hunger that causes them both to fall back onto the bed. The moment their breasts graze each other, Anna lets out a small gasp that is shortened by a searing kiss. It becomes a fumbling of hands soon afterwards, because their need is insatiable and the sensation of their bodies touching, intoxicating. Meanwhile, Anna discovers that each time her thumb brushes softly over her nipple Elsa moans into her mouth, and the blonde comes to learn that leaving a hot, wet trail up Anna's neck makes her hips buckle with lust.

Anna is submitting steadfastly and shamelessly to Elsa's control as she allows her to unbutton her jeans before wiggling out of them with inelegant urgency. 

"You do it, too," she whispers.

"What's that, love?

_Love._

Anna's mind is too hazy to stop at this.

"Your jeans. Off. Now."

The blonde chuckles but acquiesces with the same rush. Falling once more into her arms, with no barriers except for their panties, she mumbles 'bossy pants' against her girlfriend's lips.

Elsa's hand wanders farther south while she kisses her unhurriedly, nipping at her lower lip; soothing it with her tongue. Anna can feel feathery fingers traveling across her belly, skimming over her hipbone and caressing her thigh, and Anna wants to scream out in frustration because that glorious hand is going everywhere but where she desperately needs it to go. The only way she can seem to express her increasing need for release is by scratching at Elsa's back.

"Please," she breathes.

And Elsa listens.

The trail that the blonde once created with her fingers is set ablaze by her mouth. Breasts, belly, hips. Elsa covers as much skin as she can until her hot mouth reaches the hem of Anna's panties and the redhead's hips go up in a desperate attempt to meet with it.

Blue eyes connect with her own and, speechless, Anna nods.

The light in the room gives her girlfriend the chance to finally see all of her; an overwhelming fact that Anna becomes rapidly conscious of. But before her hands can go anywhere to hide the flaws she finds in herself, Elsa stops them and guides them back to her sides. 

She leans down to kiss her pelvis before making her slow way back up. When she reaches her mouth, Elsa hovers. Through heavy-lidded eyes Anna can see a devotion that almost makes her whimper before she shuts them with a sigh, because Elsa's hand has finally, _finally,_ reached her throbbing center.

Elsa makes love to her in a way that doesn't match any knowledge, real or imaginary, that Anna's ever had about the concept of intimacy. It is both encompassing and overwhelming, slightly clumsy and rhythmic too. She gently fills her from within and unapologetically engulfs her from without, until Anna can no longer smell anything other than the warm scent of her skin, hear nothing but the quick, short breaths that graze her ear, nor feel a thing other than the entirety of Elsa's naked body on top of her. She can't pull her closer, no matter how much Anna tries by snaking her arms around the girl that's done nothing but push her over the edge of sweet madness since day one.

She clashes her lips against Elsa's when she finally hits the brink of orgasm. It shocks her to the core and leaves her breathless, as if every cell in her body were imploding from the pleasure that begins at her center, curses down to her tiptoes and shoots up to her chest. Anna's back arches and Elsa looks at her with quiet reverence while her fingers remain inside of her until the very last shiver has passed.

Nothing's been transformed. The light in the room has remained on, their tea has turned cold. Outside, people keep strolling by, sirens wail, and cars head to their destinations. The city remains unchanged, unaware and unconcerned that Anna has just experienced a kind of pleasure that her own hand could never rival. Because sex with Elsa hasn't just been about the physicality, but about the discovery, the respect and the boundless affection that's lead straight to this moment. 

Eventually, as the last wave of bliss subsides, Elsa moves to lay by her side before she places her head against Anna's shoulder and her hand over her beating heart. Soon after, Anna begins running her fingers up and down her back.

"I had a very interesting dream last night," she confesses softly.

Elsa runs a single finger down between her breasts, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"What was it about?"

Anna stops the hand traveling across her belly before interlacing their fingers together.

She spends the rest of the night showing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys made it! How was it? Cringy? Good? Decent? 
> 
> Remember this is a double update, peeps, so move on to chapter 10!


	10. Matters of the heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No A/N other than if you're reading this and somehow feel like you skipped something then you haven't read chapter 9. :)
> 
> Love you guys. Hopefully you'll let me know what you think. 
> 
> Ps. This is an important chapter... Remember Tracy?

Late January.

The jolly time of freezing temperatures, salted sidewalks and slush puddles that bring back to life the spirit of urban resilience. Streets turn into an enforced survival game where the scourge of every pedestrian is embodied by icy gantlets lurking in every intersection. It is a game not for the faint-hearted but for the hardy souls that no longer mind having to plunge knee-deep into an abyss of melted, dirty snow just to get home, all the while participating in a caroling of chattering teeth and muttered curses.

Snow falls heavily upon the city that never sleeps. Seen from above, Central Park overpowers the island like a wintry forest amidst concrete roofs covered in powdery white. Car roofs advance slowly through the veiny streets like lazy water seeping through a creek. Strangers scatter, bump into each other, slip and stand back up.

In the East Village, new yorkers dressed in black hunch their backs to fruitlessly protect themselves from the blizzard. On the corner of 3rd and 6th, a man holding an umbrella he has not opened tightropes his way through the edge of the sidewalk, between the slippery concrete to his right and a mountainous amount of snow to his left. Crossing the street a few meters away, a girl helps an elder with a walker tread over a slushy puddle while she flips off the car that is honking at them after the light turns green. At the Funky Town bodega, a Hispanic woman throws chunks of salt from a bucket onto the sidewalk, blasting Mark Anthony through the portable speaker she's technically not allowed to have during business hours. And above its entrance two floors up, a window: framing a scene where a redheaded girl is braiding the blonde hair of another one sitting Indian style between her legs.

Zooming in and breaking through the window pane speckled with white, there is Anna, firing questions from the notes Elsa has provided her with, and dexterously threading her fingers through the lush tresses that cascade down to Elsa's middle back.

"Is Tetralogy of Fallot a cyanotic or ahh-cyanotic condition?" 

"Cyanotic."

"That sounds like a place in The Hobbit, doesn't it? Where does Gandalf live? Oh, he lives in the Tetralogy of Fallot."

"..."

"Right. What is the endocardial cushion?"

"The part of the heart that contains the valves."

"What symptoms can appear past the fourth decade of—why can't they just say forties? What symptoms can appear past your forties?"

A chuckle. "Right heart failure... Pulmonary arterial hypertension... Atrial arrhythmia... Shunting of— _ouch_ —blood."

"Sorry... What is Ebstein anomaly?"

"A heart defect where the upper and lower right chambers don't work properly. Which means that the blood leaks back through the valve and into the left—no... right. Into the right atrium."

"Ding ding ding! Whatever that means... We're done by the way." 

"With what?"

"I've run out of questions and out of hair."

Elsa uncrosses her legs in order to face Anna completely. She looks down at the notebook the redhead is flipping through with curiosity.

"What exactly are you studying, again?" Anna asks.

"Congenital heart diseases in adults."

"Niiice," Anna grins, looking up at her. She finds it both odd and amusing that her statement seems genuine. 

"I thought doctors had very bad handwriting but yours looks like it's printed in Times New Roman font number fourteen."

Elsa giggles, "I'm not a doctor yet, Anna."

She closes the notebook ceremoniously before laying it next to her on the bed. "How much longer now?"

The blonde really wants to laugh at this. It's only been a few months since the last time Anna's asked her the exact same thing. She's like that kid in the backseat of a car who keeps asking every five minutes if they're there yet.

"Technically, a year and a half. Then three years of internal med training and then three more of specialized. I'll be done when I'm thirty-one... ish"

Anna whistles. Or tries. "That's still a lot of years," she comments.

"It's a bit—" how to describe it? Nerve-wracking? Unpredictable? Demanding? "A lot can happen in seven years." 

"Don't you get scared sometimes?"

"I can't really be scared of something I enjoy... Do _you_ get scared?"

"Well, not of writing, obviously. But of the future. What it holds, what will change, those kinda things."

"Yeah, it is scary..." She concedes, "But I learned the hard way not to take things for granted so I try to keep my head out of the future. I'll admit that part of it is fear but I don't think a lot of us see the future without at least a little bit of, I don't know, reluctance? I mean we grow old—" she reaches for Anna's hand "—we lose people we love... We realize not everything is as easy as when we were in school."

Anna scrunches up her face. "Don't remind me, I'm about to graduate."

Elsa gives her hand a little squeeze. "You shouldn't be too scared, though. I think the fact that you're an artist adds a little bit of spice to your life," she half-jokes.

"True that, true that," the redhead says. She bends then extends again the legs that are still spread on each side of Elsa. "So, what's your favorite part about it?"

"About what? What I'm learning?"

Anna shrugs, "Just in general. You've told me the reason why you chose cardiology, but why do you _like_ it? What will make the next seven-ish years worth the stress and sleepless nights?"

Elsa had never dwelt so much on the particularities of her decisions. She realizes that she had, ironically, taken it for granted. The idea of spending year after year methodically studying the structure of the body and the functions of the heart had never been a burden, it had been a given. A process she had to complete in order to reach the goal she'd set her mind upon all those years ago.

But here Anna is, once more, asking things that demand much more than a yes or no answer.

"Okay... Lie down."

Anna does so, although with playful suspicion. As she settles flat on the bed like a patient waiting for examination, Elsa moves to sit on the edge, lifting the girl's hand up to place it flat by her left breast before doing the same on Anna's chest.

"What do you feel?" She asks.

"The heart going dum-dum... dum-dum."

"Yes," she drawls with a smile, "But what else? Go deeper, you're a writer."

Anna arches her eyebrow with defying sarcasm but thinks of her answer anyways. She even closes her eyes, making Elsa smirk with amusement.

"Life," Anna finally states.

"Care to elaborate?"

The redhead reopens her eyes. "No, _you_ elaborate. I can sort of see where you're going with this but I wanna hear it in your own words."

"Fine." Elsa's hand remains flat on top of her chest but she lets her girlfriend's fall on her bent knee. She briefly focuses on the way the heart beneath her hand beats regularly, matching with the rise and fall of Anna's lungs. 

"To me the heart is a very peculiar thing," she starts. "For years and decades, it just does its thing. I mean sure, it completely fails sometimes and it can be very deficient too. And obviously, if it's cared for properly, every single organ is supposed to work non-stop until it naturally doesn't anymore."

"The heart is not even the most important organ," she adds as an afterthought, "But as a symbol, I think it is. We take it for granted. The brain, well, the brain is in charge of everything. We wouldn't be ourselves if not for the brain, but what about the heart? That little pumping machine is what people look for in unconscious people to see if they're alive _._ It's that beeping sound in every hospital room and the dreadful flat tone people pray to never hear coming from someone they love..."

Elsa pauses here, urging her mind to brush away the memory it has brought up of her mother lying on a hospital bed and that awful, mocking beep. A beep tainted with false hopes that would come crashing down on Elsa while she sat cradling her mother's hand and praying to a God who wouldn't listen, to not take both her parents away from her. For it was silence that met her prayers. Silence and a flat tone that had forcefully sucked Elsa's breath out in a second. Because the doctors had said it was a matter of when and not if, but _when_ was too soon and Elsa had not been prepared. She had not been prepared for the pain that weighed on her to the point of physical weakness; the absolute despair; the resentment. Resentment towards that fragile, little organ safely tucked inside her mother's rib cage that was too weak to cooperate and that, in the end, was the one that took her life.

The heart...

Anna has noticed the slight change in her demeanor and has sat up, gently holding the hand that was previously resting on top of her. "It's the thing we feel knocking at our chests when we're excited or nervous or scared," she continues with less fervor. "It's what writers and poets and movies talk about when they talk about love... It's what breaks and sometimes takes forever to be mended..."

Elsa takes a deep breath that forces the memory to be swept under the rug. 

"I'm sorry, I ended up rambling."

"No, no, no. Please. I mean, you—I love—" A throat clearing, "I'm really enjoying listening to you."

"There's not a lot left for me to say... I think that answers your question?"

Anna nods. "Better than I could have put into words."

Elsa smiles shyly.

"What about you?" She then asks.

"What about me?"

"What is it about writing that gets you going all the time?"

Anna glances up at the ceiling as she thinks of an answer. Elsa feels the impulse of ghosting her thumb over the freckles on her cheek just because she can. 

"That it's both unassuming and unexpected," she answers.

"How so?"

"The possibilities are endless. You look at one person and the outcomes of that single life are like, yeeesh, infinite. Or maybe not infinite but you get the gist. You can't assume what they're going through cause that ruins the whole point of writing creatively. And I also like the fact that it's unexpected... You know, life imitates art and that whole shenanigan. Like us meeting that night. I don't think either one of us expected that to happen, not myself at least, not in a million years. I was ready to go home after my pee-pee trip but then I saw you and I couldn't think of anything else."

Elsa reacts coyly to the admission before Anna starts blushing. 

"My point is, writing is cool," she concludes lamely. "Even when you're the one doing it you don't really know what will happen from one thing to the next."

"So you're saying you let it work itself out?"

Anna rubs her tired eyes before she says, "Yes and no? You got characters, right. And you got circumstances that you wanna shove on their lives like, say I'm gonna make you go on a trip somewhere and you're gonna fall in love there, but oh surprise! You got a family back home. So what happens next? Kinda depends on how your character is, and I think that's why I like observing people. You can tell a lot by spending a few minutes on someone and that's how you can build your own people and their own decisions. Because I'm sure Marta would have a totally different reaction from my snotty fiction professor, you know?"

Elsa follows everything Anna describes so passionately except for one thing: "Who's Martha?"

"No, not Martha. Marta. The lady that works at the bodega downstairs, Elsa, pay attention."

_Okay..._

"I don't—I know Luis? He helped us carry up the furniture when we moved in. But I don't think I've met Marta yet."

"Right! Yes, Luis is her husband."

"How much time have you spent there exactly?"

Anna shrugs. "I've gone two or three times. I was leaving your place once and I went in cause I was craving noodles but then I discovered that they make a _really_ good hot chocolate."

"Do they now?" She smirks. "I'll have to try it soon then."

Anna nods excitedly but before she can say anything else there is a knock on Elsa's door. Without waiting for an invitation, Eugene pops his head in.

"Hey weirdos. Pizza's here."

* * *

With each semester that goes by in university the load and the material become harder and more demanding. It is predictable, and every student, whether it be in journalism or medicine, should expect it the moment classes begin.

But even this predictability doesn't make things any easier. Not for the guy hiding in an individual cubicle with a book atop his head to hide the blatant fact that he's passed out. Not for the girl that is 'just resting her eyes' at the line in the cafeteria, nor for the professor that is nursing a headache at his desk, already regretting having assigned a five-page essay to his group of twenty students on the second week of class. And not for Elsa either, who is struggling to maintain her studying habits intact after the intensive research training they've begun is forcing her to work in a _group._

The word forces an intake of breath through her nose to appease her mild anxiety. She's currently sitting on a bench outside Butler. To the people passing by, she simply looks like she's waiting around for someone. Inside, however, she's having a conversation with herself, highly aware that with every minute that passes by she is late to meet with the group she's been assigned to. _Group._ She _hates_ those things. High school was a horrible experience with anything groups. And pre-med wasn't any fun either. Elsa internally rolls her eyes every time a professor insists that one must be good at teamwork because rarely does any student listen. Who knows how many times she's had to do most of the work herself after some partner's neglected to text back over the weekend, or fix someone else's part because it fell further from the guideline than it was logically possible.

Because of this, she's been wrongfully accused of being an asshole perfectionist with a case of a stick-up-her-ass. But Elsa would rather take that insult any day than a stained B on her permanent record. Does that mean she has a stick up her ass? Not really. Is she a perfectionist? Most certainly. In a Utopian world, perhaps, where everyone worked their share properly and put in an equal amount of effort, Elsa would gladly take up a group. But unfortunately, reality was a dystopia. And in this dystopia, groups are the source of discord.

She considers texting Anna but she knows she's in class right now and she'd rather not be the cause of her girlfriend's distraction. Besides, what would she say? Anna would tell her to think positively... Maybe there's a friend awaiting in this group! _Highly unlikely_. Or... you know, not all students are shitty partners. Some work as hard as you do. _Okay, that could be true._

Anna is right, she thinks as she stands up with newfound resolution. It's better to walk in with confidence than pessimism.

Conscious of the time, she strides towards the main entrance of the library, making a mental note to give the redhead a big hug when she sees her today because imaginary Anna is just as wise as real Anna and she must be thanked properly.

But before she can make it to the large, iron doors a voice she is regrettably familiar with calls out to her.

"Hey there, ice queen."

Lost in her intent, Elsa had missed the brunette approaching her from the side of the building. Why she must show up unexpectedly and when Elsa isn't looking is something that is starting to get on her nerves, and her body language shows it without her even trying.

"Tracy. What do you want?"

That grin. Whereas most would find it charming, Elsa finds is sickening. "I've come as the bearer of good news," she announces.

Elsa arches her eyebrow, urging her to continue. She pulls the book she's holding closer to her chest.

"Okay so, do you know anything about the research projects the school does outside of the States?"

"I've heard about them."

Everyone has. The school won't stop nagging about it once you hit the sixth semester mark. It's one of the medical center's most prideful programs.

Wait, Elsa _is_ on the sixth semester mark.

"Would you be interested in being part of it?"

She's not sure she's heard that right.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said," she repeats slower, mockingly. "Would you be interested in being part of a research project Columbia will be doing in London next semester?"

Elsa feels like throwing her 500-pages echocardiography book at Tracy's face. 

"Don't you have to apply?" She asks instead. "Why does this sound like an invitation?"

"Because it is."

She narrows her eyes.

"Okay hear me out," Tracy rushes out. "Yes, you would have to apply. Usually, all kinds of students apply and depending on a bunch of nonsense and interviews I don't care to describe, the administration accepts them. _However,_ there's a list of students that they sort of look over and consider first, based on their grades and potential... You're one of them."

Elsa observes her posture, then her face. She is trying to find any trace of a lie; something that will tell her this girl is just pulling her leg. But she finds none.

Still, she needs more than that be convinced. "Honestly, Tracy, this all sounds like hearsay coming from you. Why would I believe you? How would you know any of this if you're just a student?"

Tracy smirks. "I'm not a student. And you don't have to believe me if you don't want to. You can expect an email soon."

On top of Tracy's attitude and her idiotic aloofness, Elsa is starting to become annoyed at the fact that this exchange is extending for far longer than she needs it to be. She's running late and she's still not getting a straight answer.

"Again, how would _you_ know any of this?"

"I'm an admin assistant. I take care of information like this."

She scoffs. "I thought faculty was not supposed to flirt with students."

"Not all rules apply to assistants."

"I highly doubt that's true."

"Believe whatever you want, sweet cheeks."

Elsa's stare is cold and unmoving, causing Tracy to change tactics. "Look, I just figured you might have wanted to know. Crucify me for other things if you want but not this. Besides, it'll look good on your curriculum for when you finally get to be done... Trust me, you should at least consider it."

There's a diminutive part of Elsa that says she should be polite enough to thank her. Just thank her and walk away. But the bigger part of her is the part that keeps bringing up the memory of the brunette looking down at Anna with disdain and an arrogant, unfounded, confidence.

That's the part that wins over when she says: "I could have just checked my email. You had no reason to talk to me."

"I needed an excuse," Tracy winks.

Elsa rolls her eyes. This conversation has lasted long enough.

"Goodbye, Tracy."

"Not even a thank you?" She hears her ask as she turns to go.

The teasing tone inflames her enough to spin back around before she seethes, "I'll thank the people responsible for considering me, not you."

She leaves feeling shaky; the resolution she once had, gone. Elsa doesn't look back but instead walks straight towards the entrance. In the glass of the doors she can see a distorted reflection of Tracy still standing behind, looking at her with an undecipherable expression on her face.

The group is already set up inside a cubicle by the time Elsa arrives muttering apologies and promises of this never happening again. Her partners greet her with polite smiles but that's as far as her interaction goes this first time, because Elsa becomes utterly lost in her thoughts once she sits down on the round table.

There's a sharp, loathsome sensation at the thought of Tracy that brings her deep discomfort. She doesn't like feeling this way, but these past two encounters with the brunette have brought it up almost instinctively and without second thought. Elsa has reacted impulsively and she's become a spiteful version of herself that leaves her bitter.

And then there's the actual reason behind Tracy's approach. The prospect of a research trip Elsa had nowhere near considered applying for. There's the question of 'why' behind this. Her professors had cared to mention it last semester; she'd heard them, and she knows she even wrote the information somewhere in her notebook. But why had she not looked into it? She was distracted, Elsa realizes. She worked on autopilot for an entire semester because her main focus was on the feelings and the attraction she was starting to develop for Anna. Granted, it is a situation she could never regret, but this doesn't keep her from feeling slightly guilty at her neglect. And as much as she hates to admit it, Tracy is right. A research project like this would look very good on _any_ resume.

Only a fool would turn it down.

So where does that leave her? She doesn't wish to make a decision without discussing this with Anna first. Because even though she knows this decision technically concerns only her future, Anna has become not only her girlfriend, but her best friend. Besides, with something as big as this, it would be reckless and a tad inconsiderate if she didn't.

This leaves her then with the only available option: she waits to decide.

* * *

Anna joins her at her place once she is done with her classes late in the afternoon. She bursts into the apartment shrugging off her coat and her backpack before falling into Elsa's arms like she hasn't seen her in over a year. The purple beanie she's wearing sits crooked atop her head but Elsa doesn't have the time to rearrange it because it falls once the redhead captures her lips in a searing kiss. The girl faintly tastes of cinnamon and coffee, and Elsa pulls her closer at the waist.

From the couch the blonde had just been occupying with her cousin, Rapunzel calls out, "You guys, there's a room like, twenty feet away from you. Go get it."

Anna pulls away in a frenzy and turns to look at Rapunzel with red-tinted cheeks.

"Oh, hi!" She squeals, embarrassed. "Ha, didn't see you there! What's up!"

While Elsa giggles at her fake nonchalance, Rapunzel laughs out loud. "I don't think you saw anything other than blondie over there."

Elsa joins her on the floor to help her pick up the things she discarded upon her sloppy entrance. "You didn't tell me Rapunzel was here!" Anna whispers.

"I'm not sure if you noticed but my mouth was a little busy," she whispers back.

Anna blushes despite the weak glare she throws her way.

After properly greeting her cousin the girls settle inside Elsa's room. It's becoming an unspoken habit of sorts to spend as many afternoons as they can together, provided that Anna doesn't have to work until closing time. Elsa doesn't mind studying or working in Anna's company, and Anna has reassured her time and again that she can write as long as there is silence and the interruption is kept to a minimum. Elsa has no problem with that; she can be as quiet as a mouse. Or so Anna says.

However, Elsa is unable to get much done today. Her mind keeps going back to the email she received not too long after she was done with her not-too-bad group meeting.

_Intensive Research Program under NIH sponsored grant,_ the subject had read. Tracy had not been lying. The grant, the offer, was pretty much there in formal statements and academic lexicon. Elsa had been selected as one of the few students to partake in a research project in London for the upcoming semester. All she had to do was formally apply, pay a minor processing fee and be interviewed by the mentor that would be leading the project. All she had to do, in a simple word, was accept.

And all she has to do, in this moment, is talk to Anna. But Anna is writing or at least, she would say, she's trying. She's taken over the now useful butterfly chair and is staring at her notes while she balances her pen between her upper lip and her nose, like a flat Dali mustache. Elsa tries to look away, to focus once more on the book sitting in front of her, but she can't. The sight of Anna is too endearing and too entertaining.

The redhead writes down something lengthy on the notebook she's nesting between her chest and her bent knees, her eyebrows knit tight in concentration, before she lifts her pen again and scratches the back of her neck with it. A few more words on paper, then the pen travels up. It looks as though she's trying to make it stand on the very top of her head and Elsa has to bite into her lips to suppress the laughter that is bubbling up in her throat. Anna's face is so serious, yet her actions are so absentminded. She's muttering words under her breath before she scratches something off in the middle of her progress, draws a line from down up and scribbles something on top of everything else. Elsa can only guess what the page must look like at this point.

She looks down with a smile before Anna can catch her staring and lets her be for what ends up being half an hour more. At the sign of movement, Elsa looks back up and watches the redhead switch her notebook for the book she's currently reading. _After Dark_ is printed on the cover. Murakami is its author.

Elsa sees an opening right here. She wishes she didn't have to interrupt Anna's reading time but she sees no other way.

"Anna?"

Her girlfriend looks up.

"Do you remember Tracy?"

She puts her book down. "The bitchy brunette who's got the hots for you?" She smirks, "How could I forget?"

Elsa cringes a little. "I ran into her at school today. She kind of popped out of nowhere, really."

"Oh. How did that go?"

"Well, it was—she was annoying, as ever. I don't like the way I'm around her—but well, the point is, she works in administration."

Anna focuses on the first part of her answer. "Why don't you like it?"

"I get very irritable," she says.

"I could understand why... Her mouth's full of arrogance. Or that was my impression at least."

"Right." She thinks of the girl's tireless flirting and feels her cheeks grow red from aggravation. Elsa closes her eyes for longer than a blink and breathes deeply. It's not Tracy she wishes to discuss.

However, Anna is already looking at her with curiosity, "Did something happen?"

"No," she rushes out, bewildering Anna even further, "I mean not _with_ her. God, not ever." Why is she spitting out nonsense? This conversation wasn't supposed to be so hard to have.

"I didn't assume something happened between you two," Anna says slowly. "I just thought maybe she'd hit on you again or she said something that upset you." 

Elsa rubs her face with both hands. She is suddenly tired and frustrated at herself because she cannot speak properly. Is she nervous? 

Should she be? 

Thankfully, Anna reads her like a book and she's taken the initiative of sitting with her on the bed. She crawls over until she's kneeling in front of Elsa and gently takes her hands away from her reddened, rubbed on cheeks. 

"You wanna start over?" Anna asks.

"Yes, please." She doesn't wish to give Tracy any more thought than she deserves. 

"Okay, so you said she works in administration. This is a key point because..."

Right. The project. She should have just started with the email and not with that wicked woman.

"Because she told me to expect an email soon. As in today, it seems." 

"And what did this email say?"

Anna is going through the pains of pulling detail after detail out of her because it seems like Elsa cannot elaborate it all in a single sentence. 

She _is_ nervous _._

"It said Intensive Research Program under NIH sponsored grant," she recites from memory. "National Institutes of Health..." Anna is staring at her, patiently waiting for her to elaborate further.

_Okay, Elsa, get it together_. 

"So the university, what it does, is sponsor research projects in other countries each semester. The process is usually the same as in any other school. You apply and they interview you and stuff. But apparently, what Tracy told me today, and what the email confirmed, is that they... invite? I don't know if invite is the right word. But they send out emails to a few students with very good qualifications to offer them a position in these projects..."

"And you're one of these students, of course." It's not really a question. It seems like Anna has even less doubts about Elsa's own capabilities.

"Yeah..."

She gets off her knees in order to cross her legs. The expression on her face remains unfathomable.

"Well, that's... good, right?"

"It is." 

Then why doesn't it _feel_ good?

"Where would you be going?"

"London, apparently."

At this, Anna's eyes brighten up slightly. "London! I've heard very cool things about London."

"You could come visit," Elsa suggests before grabbing her hand and starting to fiddle with her fingers.

The redhead gives a smile that has never been directed at her before. It's a sad smile. 

"It's a little expensive, isn't it?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "It's okay, though. It's only a semester. It goes by fast, and you should focus on your work anyways."

There's a hint of repressed melancholy in every word Anna is muttering that is not lost on Elsa. Her entire posture has gone from her instinctive perkiness to a heavy slouch that Elsa, in her infinite empathy towards the redhead, can't help but mirror. 

"I haven't decided yet," she reaffirms.

The eyes Elsa's come to adore switch right before her, from resignation to incredulity. 

"What do you mean? You should go, Elsa."

Elsa stares at her in a futile attempt to know what Anna is really thinking, but there are so many emotions contorting in her face that she cannot keep up.

"It's only a semester," she repeats like a mantra. "And not everyone has this opportunity." 

Anna means this last part and Elsa can tell. She allows herself to feel a small rush of excitement.

"How long do you have to reply?"

"Til the end of this month."

"Okay..." 

Her hand is still being held by Elsa's, but it rests rather limp; emotionless. Anna _always_ speaks with her hands when she's excited but not once, since this conversation has started, has Elsa seen her do any expressions with them. In all honesty, she expected clapping, flying hands while Anna gushed over the prospect of Elsa in London doing researchy things or something along those lines, but she is so unsure at this point of what is going on in her mind that she hesitates between changing the topic or adding something to the present one.

Regardless, Anna beats her to it. "I still think you should go... I'll miss you," she confesses. "But well, we can't always be attached by the hip, right? Distance could do us good. You know how they say absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that."

Elsa feels like cringing. Why must she feign such aloofness? It feels as though Anna is putting a lid over what she really wants to say. 

But why should Elsa force it out of her? 

"I'll miss you, too." Is all she can settle for. 

She wants to be excited, and she wants to be excited with Anna. But neither of those two things happen. Not for the rest of the evening they spend working separately and bathed in a burdensome silence that only ends up breaking when Anna announces she should get going earlier than expected.

"Will you call me when you get home?" She hasn't had to ask this in over a month.

"You know it," Anna smiles.

Elsa stands up from the bed once the redhead finishes packing her things and begins donning her coat and her beanie. 

When she looks ready to leave she remains where she's standing until Elsa lifts her arms up and beckons her into a hug. Nothing's changed; they still fit perfectly together. And yet, Elsa can feel a driving, unfamiliar necessity behind the way Anna wraps her arms tight around her waist and sighs deeply into her neck.

There lay, in the tip of her tongue, many questions, consolations and reassurances that want to be blurted out but become lost in their silent exchange and blurred out by the confusion founded by Anna's behavior. She wishes she was as intent as her girlfriend in finding answers where there is silence, but Elsa knows she would fail miserably even if she tried. 

So she lets her go, hoping that eventually, all of this will be voiced.

Elsa is weary of doing anything that requires her to over-analyze a single thing, so she accepts Rapunzel's invitation to sit in front of the TV after she takes a long, scalding shower. She doesn't mention the trip or the conversation with Anna to her cousin. Instead, she chooses to wait until tomorrow morning, in hopes that the topic will cease to feel like lead in her mouth.

Rapunzel makes them watch 50 First Dates for the umpteenth time. Elsa is nowhere near as interested as her cousin who, unsurprisingly still laughs at every Adam Sandler joke.

Somewhere between meeting Drew Barrymore and building unrealistic objects with waffles there's a thump on the door.

Both girls look up from the couch and then at each other.

"Did you order food?"

A snort. "I wish. But I'm hungry so if the guy has the wrong apartment number just say thank you and take it."

There's a pause followed by another thump. Elsa gets up with a grumble before padding over to look through the peephole.

It is Anna. 

Elsa swivels the door open with an urgency that is almost embarrassing. The redhead is standing on the other side of the frame, holding two cups that she lifts with an apologetic smile.

"Hot chocolate?" 

She makes a move to let Anna back in but the girl is quicker when she whispers: "Actually can we talk over here? I realized on my way up that Rapunzel is home and I only have two chocolates, and one is for you and the other one I already slurped half of it." 

Elsa is too bewildered to disagree.

"It's Anna," she yells across the hallway, "She's—uhh—I'll be back!"

"Weirdos," she hears her say. Then, "Bring food!" 

Elsa closes the door behind her, realizing two things right after the action: one, that she doesn't have her keys and two, that she's only wearing socks and her snowman pajamas. 

Thankfully, Anna has no plans of stepping outside but rather of sitting on the landing of the second floor where there's only enough space for two. 

Elsa hopes no one has to leave or enter their apartment any time soon.

"I'm sorry for earlier, Elsa."

The blonde frowns at her, "Why are you sorry?"

Anna bites her lip. "To be honest with you, I freaked out a little... But then I got downstairs and I couldn't make it past the corner so I went to the bodega and I think I must have looked all mopey cause Marta didn't let me pay for the hot chocolates"—she lifts the cup—"this is my second one, by the way."

There's a sip from Anna, a savoring, then a swallow. Elsa doesn't touch her drink. She waits.

"Anyways, I was just standing right outside, looking like a weirdo in the cold and I kept thinking about how I'm just so new to all this... These past few months I've gone through a lot of emotions I'm not very familiar with. They're _good_ , but they're intense. And—the thing I'm trying to get at—is that I really, _really_ like you, Elsa. I like being with you and laughing with you and learning new things about you and _with_ you. So I'll admit, it kinda felt a slap in the face when you told me but that was a very selfish reaction and I wish I had reacted a little bit better. I don't wanna be someone that becomes so attached it ends up being suffocating, but I also don't know how... not to be... so attached."

Elsa is unsure of what to say. She had known Anna had left with something brewing in her mind but she could not have imagined the weight of her emotions until now.

"Why do you think being attached is a bad thing?" It's not that she agrees or disagrees with what she's just said, but the lack of any idea of how to respond to Anna's confession is pushing her to ask so that she may understand better.

Anna remains silent for seconds, then minutes. To the point where Elsa's not sure she's heard her. But the way the girl is intently staring at the stairs before them with a faint, pondering frown prevents her from asking again or saying anything at all. So she stares instead at the coffee cup sleeve Anna is forgetfully tearing at.

"I spent a lot of time clinging to people I felt I could never quite reach and now it's like, no matter how much I _try,_ I end up in the same place and I end up acting a little bit like a jerk," Anna admits without looking at her. "I mean, I don't have enough emotional intelligence to describe how I felt then or even now but... Do you ever feel like if you cling to something too much, it'll go away? Like cats?"

The corner of Elsa's lips twitch into a smile. "Cats?"

"Yeah. I used to have a cat when I was little and that cute bastard clawed his way out of my arms every time I tried to hug him tighter."

Elsa allows herself to picture Anna for a few, brief seconds before she lets the image go. "I know what you mean... And yes, I have. Sometimes I'm afraid of enjoying things too much because there's this pessimistic side of me that reminds me that things don't last."

"But sometimes they do, right?"

Anna sounds and looks so hopeful it tears at her heart. Her eyes are bright and glossy, and Elsa wonders if it is because of the light in the corridor or because she's cried before coming back up. Regardless, she doesn't ask.

"They do," she says, realizing that there's as much hope laced in her voice as there is hidden behind Anna's eyes.

The redhead smiles a little but her shoulders remain slouched. "It's a struggle," she mutters. "Cause I know there's some sort of balance I need to find between healthy attached and overly attached... But again, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Anna. I was never mad at you. Mostly, I was confused because I didn't know what was in your mind when you left but now I do..." She thinks of her next words before she scoots closer to the redhead and playfully bumps their shoulders together. "I know I'm gonna sound like a cheap therapist when I say this, but you've gotten to the first step of accepting it—" this gets a chuckle out of Anna— "I don't think you have to find a perfect balance, though. You're not a robot. You'll have your good days and your bad days cause none of us are perfect and that's okay; I'll stick around for both."

_No matter what happens,_ she wants to add. _No matter what happens, I will always be here for you._

Anna rests her head upon her shoulder before sighing deeply.

"You sound wiser than an ancient proverb," she says.

Elsa can't help but laugh before she throws her arm around Anna's shoulder, pulls her closer and kisses the crown of her head.

"Only as wise as a fortune cookie. I mess up a lot, too."

Anna lifts her head up again to chase after her lips. The kiss is short but it still manages to take her breath away.

When they separate, Elsa adds: "You know, you're not the only one feeling this way. I enjoy spending time with you more than I ever have with any one else. So _if_ I leave, it'll be hard for me too. I'm starting to grow quite fond of your snoring," she jokes.

Not for the first time tonight, Anna glares at her. A retort comes in the action of a hand tousling Elsa's bangs.

"Stop saying _if_. I know you want this," Anna remarks when Elsa manages to smack her hand away. "Seriously, you should go and have fun and do whatever nerdy discoveries you guys do on trips like that."

"You mean that?"

"Hell yeah, you're a huge nerd, Elsa."

She rolls her eyes. "Not _that_ part, thank you very much."

Anna giggles. "Yeah... I do—" she drinks the last of her hot chocolate and places the empty cup by her right side— "I want you to go do your thing... I _will_ miss you, but I'm also very proud of you. I couldn't go back home without telling you that, or any of what I just ranted about, really. I didn't want to keep it in, you know?"

"That would have been hard for you. You have a penchant for blurting things out."

"Whatever. You love it."

"I do, actually."

_That and so many other things about you._

Anna grins before she nods at the cup Elsa's been holding since she sat down. "You completely neglected the hot chocolate I brought you."

Elsa takes her first sip bashfully. The drink is no longer hot but rather lukewarm. Still, it hasn't lost any of its flavor.

"Damn..."

"Right!? I need to ask Marta how she makes it."

She takes another sip. "Next time you go you have to bring me with you. I need to meet the woman that's feeding you endless amounts of hot chocolate."

"Don't be jealous, Elsa. She's married," Anna teases.

The blonde laughs.

There are few moments in a person's life where they are able to pinpoint the exact moment they discover a feeling or a state of mind. When Elsa was twelve years old, she discovered she had an affinity for girls the moment she realized she looked with too peculiar a longing at the closest friend she had in middle school. She discovered then, the act of nonreciprocal infatuation. A state of mind that leaned too close to the opposite side of morality for her liking. A state of mind she suppressed for years.

At nineteen, a brunette came into her life with bright eyes and a mirthful smile that Elsa couldn't avoid being allured by. A summer was spent by her side, then another one, and every time the leaves turned greener and the sun shone brighter, Elsa's heart fluttered. Because for two years, Elsa got to discover the breakthrough sensation of young, inconsequential love. And love is what she felt. Immature and innocent, but love nonetheless, for a girl whose honey-colored eyes she looked forward to seeing despite the fears of being caught and despite the horror she felt at doing something she thought was wrong. 

At twenty-four, she finds herself experiencing somewhat the same, yet the entire opposite. For Elsa finds no fear and no horror marring her thoughts or her emotions as she sits next to Anna outside of her apartment, wearing her pajamas and sipping lukewarm chocolate. She finds plenitude, a closeness to another person who was once a stranger and now sits at the forefront of her mind. A person who's shown insecurities, who's given Elsa the chance to place a light upon the darker side of her vulnerability. 

It is this moment Elsa will look back to for years to come. The moment she realizes with vehement clarity this:

She is falling in love.


	11. Introspection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so many disclaimers that I wanted to put down and I've forgotten half of them... but one is that all authors mentioned below are superb and 1000 better than me (ie. Whitman). Maya Angelou doesn't belong to me, obvs. Neither do the characters of Frozen, of course... I have also never been to a writing class, especially not one in NYU. My research came short when it came to curriculum and syllabus so all classes are made up (kinda?). I might be missing something else but I can't think much atm.
> 
> Anyways, I really hope you guys like this one. I put a lot of effort into cracking Anna's mind and everything included in the first section of this chapter took up a good half of my brain for a week. Again, thank you so very much for your reviews!

Anna has never been an avid school goer. 

An avid learner yes, but a school goer... _meh._

It might have taken her a few years to separate both concepts but when she finally did, she managed to come to the conclusion that her liking for a class was mostly based on how the professor handled the material.

When Anna was nine she had a thing for her fourth grade teacher. A crush is more accurate but nine year-old Anna didn't know that then. She used to attribute it to the fact that every time Miss Bradbury walked into the classroom it would quiet down like she was a magical presence that commanded silence. Miss Bradbury was kind and smart. She had almond colored hair that came to her shoulders and wore glasses that she would look up from when she was about to reprimand a student.

Not that Anna was ever reprimanded by her. Far from that. She once memorized the entire list of lakes in the United States just so that she could recite them in front of the class and be called out by Miss Bradbury as the star student of the day, and went as far as convincing her mother to give her five bucks just so that she could bike to the dollar store and buy Miss Bradbury a mug with _#1 Teacher_ printed on its side.

It was also thanks to her that Anna learned the very strange concept of having butterflies in the stomach. She knew this after spending an hour in front of a computer at the school library typing in the search engine things like 'funny feelings near pretty woman.'

But regardless of her looks and her attitude, Anna was captivated because Miss Bradbury was incredible at teaching. She made things fun, and fun had always been what Anna looked for in learning. If it was boring to the point where counting the cracks on the ceiling was far more interesting, then Anna would never be able to enjoy it.

Like today, with this class.

Senior editor of the school's poetry magazine, Mr. Hayes is a man that only speaks in order to give out tepid reprimands, flat feedback and brief lectures. He is a man of few words, indeed. Boring, superfluous words that make Anna want to smack a book against her head and be done with it for good. But she cannot be done with it for good. Not yet at least, because there's a copy of Benedetti's _Don't Give Up_ on her desk that still awaits to be read out loud.

'Must you keep on bringing cheerful poems, Miss Summers?' He might ask.

'Why no, Mr. Hayes, I can bring you Poe if you want but I've been feeling hella cheerful lately thanks to a certain pretty blonde in my life,' she would snap. 'You'd be hella cheerful too if you knew Elsa.'

This she would say proud and clear. But of course, this won't happen, so she tucks it safely into a folder and files it away with the rest of the conversations she makes up in her head but never actually gets to reenact.

Anna throws her head back, bored out of her mind. A guy whose name she can't yet recall is reciting Whitman. Good ole' Whitman. American; bland as rice.

Which is why Anna likes to spicy it up every Friday with her Latin American poets.

'Miss Summers, not every good poet has been born south of the border.'

'I know _that,_ Mister, but did you know—'

Her phone buzzes inside the front pocket of her jeans and Anna thanks the universe for getting her out of yet another conversation with her multiple personalities.

And it seems the universe is being generous today because the distraction is Anna's favorite kind: a text from Elsa.

After sneaking a glance upwards, Anna looks at the picture that is attached to the message. It is the skyline of Brooklyn, a sight that strikes in Anna a deep sense of longing that causes her to look out at the crisp, blue skies framed by the window. Elsa is out there running by the East River while she is here, ruefully confined to the walls of a classroom.

Then, two words.

_Miss you_

Anna suppresses a smile but fails to contain the flourish of her heart. With her eyes continuously drifting up in order to keep herself from being caught she replies: _I miss you too..._

An answer buzzes in her hand a few seconds later.

_I'm hoping the weather gets better so that you'll join me again_

_Actually, about that..._

_What? Chickening out already?! We only did it once!_

Anna fights the urge to snort. She looks up once more at the guy still standing at the front of the class. He is now being lectured by the professor.

_I'm kidding! I'll join you eventually._ She sends this before adding, _the view is too good to miss ;)_

_Brooklyn? Oh yes. But it can't beat Manhattan, can it?_

If only Elsa could be the receiver of the glare Anna is giving her phone right now. _Yes, Elsa. Manhattan,_ she types with exasperation.

Hopefully she'll get the message this way. No... Anna knows she _did_ get the message, but Elsa loves riling her up. She considers not texting her for the rest of the morning but who is she kidding with that?

_There's a view that beats it though,_ Elsa texts.

_And that is?_

She puts her phone back down on her lap, attempting to look at least half involved with what's been going on in the class as the guy reciting Whitman walks back to his seat. He looks morose but Anna has missed out on the reason.

Her phone vibrates insistently.

_You,_ the new text reads.

Simultaneously followed by:

_Naked_

_On my bed_

Anna slams her phone on the desk so loud it draws the attention of half of the class, including her professor.

"Sorry!" She squeals. "I was—uhh, checking the time!" She goes to check her phone, absentmindedly hoping she hasn't cracked its screen before her cheeks redden deeper when she catches the word 'naked' again. Instead of dissipating her self-inflicted situation, the action is screaming at everyone in the classroom to look at her. "Jeez. Late. Ha! It's—yeah... it's late."

A few sniggers echo in the room while Mr. Hayes stands by the lectern looking unimpressed. "The class has barely started, Miss Summers. And in fact, it's your turn to recite your weekly poem... if you don't mind the tardiness, that is."

Anna would much rather head for the exit but she drags her feet to where Mr. Hayes once stood and readies herself to recite a very butchered, very flustered version of one of her favorite poems.

The first thing she does as soon as she exits the classroom an hour later is call Elsa. It rings three times before her girlfriend's sultry voice fills her ears.

"Hi, sweetheart."

Anna skips the cordiality. "You got me in trouble with the professor." She dug her own grave, really, but there's still a few people passing by with mixed looks of disapproval and amusement, so making Elsa feel a little guilty should help alleviate some of this embarrassment.

"Crap," Elsa mutters, "I'm sorry."

The redhead stops on her tracks in the middle of the hallway. A girl dodges past her mumbling something under her breath that Anna gives zero consideration to.

She now feels guilty for making Elsa feel guilty. It all comes back around to bite her in the ass, it seems. "Okay, maybe I got myself in trouble..."

Elsa giggles, relieved. "I'll admit it was probably my fault, too. What did you do?"

"Your text got me all hot and bothered so I slammed the phone on my desk and Mr. Hayes called me out on it." She skips the part where she babbled and made things worse. That bit is unimportant.

"But I barely sent you anything explicit," she rebutes.

"You know I have a very active imagination."

The blonde laughs. "I'll make it up to you later."

"So you're coming over tonight?" She asks, hopeful.

"Of course," Elsa says. Anna can tell she's smiling. "I gotta make sure you wake up early tomorrow so that we can go see Theo... How many more classes do you have today?"

"I have an hour to spare and then one more class." She is now crossing the street towards Washington Square Park and glancing around in an attempt to spot a familiar face. When was Kristoff's day off again? Thursday or Friday? "You know, Friday schedules shouldn't even be a thing," she tells Elsa. "They cram your whole week with classes and then give you one or two at the end just to make sure you don't get to properly enjoy your day."

" _Totally_ agree with you," Elsa teases.

Anna huffs. The vapor in her breath rises and blends with the air. "You don't get to agree, you don't even have to set foot on campus."

"True. But I agree with you anyways, which is why I'm going to sympathize and set foot there myself."

The redhead narrows her eyes at nothing in particular.

Elsa elaborates, "I'm meeting you at school, Anna."

"Yes!" Anna does a little dance by the entrance of the park, loses her footing for a second and looks around to make sure no one has witnessed it.

Soft, muffled laughter resonates next to her ear. "I'm gonna jump in the shower now but I'll see you later okay?"

"Send pictures," Anna whispers theatrically.

"We'll see about that..."

Anna giggles before she says goodbye to the blonde. She knows the odds of receiving nudes from someone as proper as Elsa are little to none but there's never any harm in trying. If she doesn't get to see her girlfriend's naked body on her phone screen in the next few minutes, she'll still get to see her live and naked in the next few hours. Either way, there's no losing in this situation.

With an hour to spare before she has to go back to the Writers House, Anna weighs in her options. She could go to the library that's across the street or she could go to the café that's on the other side of the park. Although the library is too spacious for her liking, too modern. She's never found any inspiration in there; its walls are too bare and the lobby of the place looks like a decadent, post-modernist hotel. As a bonus, Lucy, her disastrous last date, seems to have started working there and seeing her right now is about the last thing Anna wishes to do.

Put up against it, the café Anna frequents with her friends or alone is a bit of a gem. Sure, its outer walls are sickly green, like the spawn of a St. Patrick's celebratory gesture that kind of stuck around and was never taken off, but the dark oranges and browns inside bring out a warmth that can't be beaten even on the rainiest or coldest days of the year. The paintings hanging off every wall make it look like Caravaggio took residence and refused to leave. In one of the corners, an old, silver espresso machine sits like a proud Stanley cup. By the cabinet-turned-restroom there is a single shelf with the bust of a Nefertiti doppelgänger that stands out like a sore thumb, and scattered across the room are tiny antique tables that, albeit impeccable, look like they haven't been switched in decades. 

The thought of introducing Elsa to this place flashes through her mind as she goes to sit at a table next to the window.

She also has to ask her when she'll be accepting the research offer. Anna knows Elsa will accept it; she _has_ to. She might not be an expert in the field of professional medicine, but ever since the moment the blonde told her she had been invited to it rather than her having applied for it, Anna knew it was no trivial matter. Elsa's efforts had been rightfully rewarded and Anna, despite her fears, had nearly burst with pride.

The real problem had been showing it. Anna had been an inept the first time but it's been a week now and she has tried her best to analyze her reaction and her feelings towards it. Unfortunately, the act of introspection has never been Anna's forte. It's one thing to observe and eventually come to understand other people's behaviors but when it comes to herself there's just too many barriers. There's the bias, the incredulity; the suppression of thoughts and emotions that prevent any real catharsis of the heart. Anna knows there will always be a blind side to the way insight works, like a note stuck to her back that everyone but herself can see.

She knows all this, but to work upon it... Why must it be so hard?

When she was standing outside of Elsa's apartment not a lot made sense except for one thing: Elsa was leaving. It was the thought she kept coming back to. But then she realized, Elsa was leaving for a reason that had absolutely nothing to do with Anna. It was a reason exterior to their relationship, completely removed from the feelings both girls have slowly developed since the moment they met. So why should Anna feel threatened?

Then she got around to facing her fears of separation and her problems with attachment. The two big elephants in the room, Mr. Hayes would say—so cliché-minded that man—. And what ended up being worse was the fact that Anna knew she had a bit of an issue there. She's known it for a while. Since she's moved to New York, to be exact. Because in separating herself from her parents, the two people she's always felt the closest to and the most pushed away by, Anna felt pure terror where most people her age would have found relief. Independence had tasted bittersweet, but the fear of having her parents separate themselves from her even more had been so palpable that it refused to go away until nothing, eventually, changed.

But now it seems as though the fear never went away. It only hid itself in the confines of her heart. Because when Elsa brought up the prospect of a trip that resulted in separation, Anna felt a fear that quickly transformed into a distaste for her own attachment. And the thing is, distance can be such an ambiguous concept, can't it? Two people can be separated by miles and still witness their fondness for each other grow. Yet, there's no need for physical separation to create a distance that can feel abysmal.

So is that really what she's so afraid of? A distance big enough to break them but not significant enough to strengthen them?

From this point on it's all a jumble of emotions, and to nitpick when Anna doesn't even know what she's looking for is fruitless.

The cappuccino that is brought to the table by a friendly, Italian middle-aged man is a welcomed interruption. It gives Anna the much needed pause to rub at her face in an attempt to subside her increasing weariness.

_It's only six months at the most, Anna. Get a grip._

"Get a grip," she repeats out loud. To hell with people thinking she's talking to herself.

She drinks and spends the rest of her free hour with a relatively quiet mind, willing herself to be distracted by the people inside and outside of the café. A loose-minded man is spraying the wall across the street with what seems to be a deodorant can, so not much vandalism going on there, she thinks. Inside, a couple shares a tiramisu. The girl is laughing heartily at something the guy is saying and Anna suddenly wishes Elsa was there with her.

Looking down at the time on her phone, Anna counts an hour and a half before she gets to see her. 

The countdown begins as soon as she downs the last of her cappuccino and heads back to the House for her Writing Technique class. It's an exciting one, at least. Since the start of the semester, the professor has been giving them prompts that they must work on in the spam of an hour. It's like a workout, he explains. Sometimes you spend the hour on a runner's high, speed-writing your way through a few pages of decent looking content. Other times, you stare at your page for longer than you write, like being at the gym and spending an hour stretching on a mat. It's all valid, he insists, as long as you _try_. 

The point is not the topic itself, anyways, but the way it's written. So Anna finds herself trying her best to work on today's prompt: describing the loss of a sense.

She looks out the window and the muteness of the outside gives her a hint. Then she turns her focus to the inside. There's a few sporadic coughs, a scrapping chair, the page of a notebook being turned. The girl sitting next to her scratches out something on her journal and starts again. 

Anna covers her ears with her two index fingers. The sound of her breathing amplifies tenfold while everything else turns into a muffled background noise. She has absolutely no idea if that is similar to being deaf but here goes nothing...

_It happened as painfully continuous as a rock sinking in water,_ she writes. _It was not an abrupt or conspicuous occurrence_ _but a gradual loss that got a kick out of reminding me every night that the gift of one of my senses was nothing but a fleeting affair._

_With each passing day a note; a song; a word faded away until I could no longer hear the birds chirping at dawn and my voice started to become nothing more than vibrations against my throat..._

By the time the class concludes Anna has managed to write five pages worth of prompt—if the pages were the size of post-it notes that is. _Oh well._ She wrote three actual pages last week.

Anna checks her phone when she exits the room and finds a text from Elsa letting her know that she will be waiting for her at the park.

She does her best not to skip all the way over there.

Elsa is standing by the waterless fountain at the center of the square, wearing a dark gray coat that matches with the gray beanie and scarf Anna ended up giving her on the day of her birthday. She is gazing intently towards the other side with her hands in her pockets and her head held high.

Despite her buzzing excitement, Anna stops a few meters away to take her in. She notices a guy doing a double take on her as he walks past her and chuckles. That's right, sucker, she thinks. My elegant, super smart, super gorgeous girlfriend is picking _me_ up from school. But who would blame him? Elsa looks so casually hot, and at twenty-four she is practically a woman. Anna is dating a _woman..._ a woman and a _doctor._

_She's not a doctor yet, Anna._

Semantics.

"Elsa!"

The blonde turns to look at her. Recognition gives way to delight in an instant.

Anna runs—cautiously—towards Elsa's open arms. Her backpack bounces up and down behind her like the one belonging to a child who's ready to go home after the first day of elementary school.

She knows the excitement she feels is overly exuberant. It doesn't quite match with the time that's passed since the last time she saw Elsa three days ago but none of this matters to Anna, and neither does it seem to matter to the blonde who sweeps her off her feet the moment Anna falls into her.

When she places her back on the floor, Elsa leans down and kisses her right there in the middle of Washington Square Park, where dogs and pigeons and students abound, where everyone can see them and no one seems to mind.

"I missed you," Elsa tells her.

"I missed _you,_ " Anna says as she playfully pulls down the beanie to cover her eyes.

Elsa's lower half of her face splits into a grin. "I'll take that for getting you in trouble this morning."

"I'll need more than that," she teases.

The blonde tugs at the hem of her beanie, revealing the amusement reflecting off one of her eyes. "Anything, my darling."

* * *

"Okay, how about this one: Editor's Assistant for Creative Media Company."

"Send it over."

"Creative Writing Intern?"

"Send it, Cortana," she says in a deep voice. She misses Elsa's bewildered look—perhaps she's spent too much time watching Kristoff play Halo.

Anna keeps on scrolling down as she scans over words that are starting to blend with each other until a title catches her eye. "Internship at Upcoming Literary Agency," she reads out loud.

"Sounds catchy," Elsa tells her from the bed. 

"I'll apply to that one too."

When she's done completing the application and attaching her barely impressive resume, Anna swivels on her chair. "Can we take a break?"

It's been almost two hours of this. She's about ready to do nothing for the rest of the day.

Elsa's response comes in a smile. The moment she places the computer off her lap, Anna goes to sit next to her on the bed. She rests her head on the space that Elsa's made for her while the blonde wraps an arm around her shoulder.

"So, what have you thought about the research program?" Anna asks a few seconds into the embrace. "You're accepting the invitation, right?"

"I—yeah..."

Anna straightens herself up. "Elsa, you'll be the biggest fool on the planet if you don't take this opportunity."

"That's not very nice."

"Neither would it be refusing it."

The ghost of a smile appears on Elsa's face. "I won't refuse it."

Anna continues to stare at her quizzically. "What's on your mind?"

"I just want us to be on the same page, that's all."

"We are..." She reaches for her hand in a gesture of reassurance. "Really, I promise. The way I reacted—it has nothing to do with us. Or with you. They're issues I gotta work on myself."

"You know I'm here for you, though," Elsa tells her.

"I know," she smiles, dropping a kiss on the back of Elsa's hand. "But either way, I don't want this to be about me... Elsa, you're going on this trip and it'll be _amazing._ And I'll be here, waiting for you even though you'll come back nerdier than you are right now and talking with an insufferably posh London accent."

Elsa snorts.

Anna tries to poke at her ribs the same way Elsa has succeeded in doing time and again. "Are you excited?"

The blonde starts giggling while she swats her hand away, "I am." 

She narrows her eyes and Elsa responds by pulling her in for a chaste kiss. "I'm very excited," she tells her sincerely. "I just don't show it the way you do."

"Fair enough," Anna concedes. Elsa is the other side of her coin. She is naturally reserved whereas Anna would have already thrown herself a farewell party.

"I'm going to miss you a lot," the blonde says softly.

"Oh, I'll miss you like _crazy_ ," Anna admits. "Like an absolute maniac... I can already see it happening," she props herself on her knees to allow room for her theatrics. "Everything will be dark at my place except for that little light on the corner where I'll be moping... Food won't taste the same. _Chocolate_ won't taste the same. The pillow will be my cuddling partner," she cries, "but I'll make sure to spray it first with whatever concoction of aromas you've got going on so that every night I can sniff it and feel as if you're here with me."

Elsa pulls her back into her arms with a laugh. "You are the weirdest girl I've ever met," she says.

"Most charming might be the superlative you're looking for."

"Most beautiful."

Anna grins. "Most incredible."

"Clumsiest."

"Highly offended, but true."

"The best," Elsa whispers, "of the best," she kisses her. She laces her fingers through Anna's bangs, making them stand up for a second before they fall back on her forehead. "The greatest person that's ever come into my life..."

Anna's heart swells inside her chest. "You mean that?"

"I will never tell you something I don't mean."

The confession ignites in Anna the spontaneous desire to touch her, and she does so by ghosting the back of her fingers over Elsa's cheeks. She moves them lightly, covering her freckles as she goes, before her thumb does the gentle act of grazing her lips. She then takes her time delineating the delicate curvature of her jaw, the shell of her ear, the smooth lines of her neck. Anna stares at her parted lips but she can't bring herself to kiss her just yet; she is enamored with the way Elsa has slowly closed her eyes and allowed herself to be touched like this.

"How did I get so lucky?" She asks softly.

Elsa's bright eyes reveal themselves, and in them Anna finds an answer as intricate and naturally unfathomable as the first time their eyes met that summer night of August.

It wasn't luck. 

It was fate.

* * *

Purple is Theo's color that Saturday.

She has donned a deep violet shawl combined with a challis dress where purple flowers blossom starkly against the darkness of their background. She gets up slowly but steadily from her armchair before welcoming both Elsa and Anna into her arms. Her embrace is motherly, buoyant.

"How are you two holdin' up?" She asks them as they sit on the armchairs surrounding the squared table. There's no puzzle on it this time but it doesn't take long before a tray with a simple tea set is placed between them by one of the nurses on the clock.

"Good," the girls say simultaneously.

They look at each other and share a soft laugh while Theo observes them with mirthful warmth. 

"We're good," Elsa repeats, looking at Anna as she does so.

"How did y'all spend the holidays?" The elder asks.

"We had dinner at our place," Elsa says. "My cousin's boyfriend Eugene was there and so was Anna's best friend, Kristoff."

"Did y'all cook this time too?"

Elsa and Anna share another laugh. "We made everyone come earlier this time to cook with us," the blonde says.

"Then we snuck up to their rooftop through the fire escape—" Anna adds. "I think we almost got caught cause somebody kept screaming 'Hey!' from the sidewalk—or maybe they thought we were trying to break into an apartment?" She looks at Elsa but the blonde is shaking her head and hiding her face behind her palm. "No? Well, either way I lost my favorite beanie somewhere up there."

"You dropped it when we were going up the stairs, Anna."

"I did not. I still had it on when we made it to the top."

"That was Rapunzel's Santa hat. You were screaming for your beanie, that's why we got caught, and Rapunzel gave it to you so that you would stop."

Anna does not remember things going down like that. But then again... "Okay, maybe I'd had too much wine by that time," she admits.

Theo's laughter is raucous in the background of her blurry memories. Amethyst crystals twinkle from her ears every time they hit the light.

"Oh, deary me, with someone as petite as you I'd expect you to be a goner by the second glass."

Elsa snorts but Anna persists, "I need more than two to get that drunk."

"You had three," Elsa quips.

"Three at _your_ place. But then we took eggnog and wine upstairs."

Elsa looks at Theo. "The grossest combination in the history of mankind."

Another raucous laugh. "Anna, darling, you gotta step up your drinking game, eggnog is for kiddos. But you gotta keep it casual—" her wrinkly hands dance in front of her, searching for a concept in the air, "—you wanna be a Maya Angelou not a Bukowski."

From her peripheral vision, Anna catches Elsa lean closer to the table. "You know, she actually met Maya Angelou once."

She glances at the blonde before whipping her head back towards Theo. There's a gasp; a widening of the eyes. "No!"

Theo waves her hand once before she reaches for the pot and starts serving the tea. "I didn't _meet_ her, honey. I shook her hand and babbled nonsense."

"You exchanged words, though," Elsa insists.

The elder laughs mutely, her shoulders bouncing along.

"Ohh come on, come on, I wanna know!"

Elsa is looking at Anna with amusement, and beneath it, an emotion she cannot decipher in time.

"That was a big night," Theo begins telling them. "You know I met my ex-husband that night, too?" Elsa shakes her head twice, graciously. Anna shakes hers like a bobblehead doll. "I sure did. But that woman... Oh, if I coulda married _that_ woman instead of my incredulous, poor excuse of a husband, _this_ life—" she points at herself— "would've turned out a lot different."

"I was just gettin' started with my writing. You see, my papa, he taught me everything I know about writing. We were poor, like practically every person lookin' like us those days, but that passion of his... Boy that passion was _rich_ and it was contagious, too. My momma was against it from the beginning. She wanted me to marry and settle down like some sorta rich white lady, but what's a colored girl gonna do at twenty if not rebel? It's that or submission, my loves. And I wasn't gonna submit to no one."

Her hands reach out for the cup that awaits before her. "So I went to this underground party when I was twenty-one," she continues. Cream is added to her tea, then sugar. "Papa had recently died and momma kept a tight hold on all of us girls like we were gonna plunge right into doom if she let go. She was as hardy as an oak, too. Didn't pass away 'til she was ninety-three and still kicking great-grandsons in the ass."

Anna glances at Elsa from time to time, partly because she wants to see if she's listening as intently as herself, but also because she simply enjoys looking at her. Elsa catches her once as she reaches for her tea and winks at her.

"Segregation was buzzing all over the South back then. It was a systematic nightmare," Theo reminisces. "But underground... Boy, it was like club 57 had arrived to little St. Louis—whites, blacks, drag queens, artists, you name it. That's where I met Maya. She was surrounded by all kinds of people and each one of 'em wanted a share of her. So not only was I starstruck. I felt bad too..."

"Why?" Elsa asks.

Theo smiles a little. "You give out a little piece to each person you meet and in the end you'll be left with nothing to give yourself... Now don't get me wrong, Maya gave out in heaps. She was a woman as hardy as my mother but not only that, you could see the kindness in her eyes faster than you could see their color... I just didn't wanna be someone who took from her without givin' something back so I felt like I had to keep it short," she lets out a dry chuckle. "It was hella awkward too."

"Why was it awkward?" Anna asks.

"Cause I was a blabbering mess, darling. Imagine you finally get to meet one of your biggest heroes and all you can talk about is how nice the lighting of the room is."

Anna _can_ imagine. She's a bit like that on a regular basis.

Elsa delves further. "What about your ex-husband?"

"My hubbie!" Theo mocks. "That man was quite something. He was a business man visitin' from the north. _Very_ handsome too. But then he got his eyes on me and I was no exception; he meant business. For a whole year he kept comin' to visit, charming my momma and my sisters, and me I guess. Enough to get me to marry him."

She pauses, sipping at her tea while she stares out the window lost in a web of memories.

"He said he wanted to help me get my career started," she tells the girls. "And I believed him, cause deep down I knew there was no future for me back in the South. My momma was just happy that I'd gotten myself a man like him so she didn't mind when I moved first to Chicago, then to New York. The problem was, he kept tryin' to make a big name for himself... I was just a pretty tool in his box."

"Were you in love with him?" Anna asks.

"No, sugar," she smiles sadly. "I _cared_ for him—you gotta, after more than twenty years together— but the craft came first, even when I did fall in love many years later."

Anna frowns before looking down at the steam rising from her cup of tea. Foreboding lurks in the back of her mind.

Elsa reaches for her hand under the table.

"I tried to build my career for twenty years under his shadow," Theo says. "Then one day he took me to a big publishing house over in midtown tellin' me how there's this man that's gonna change my life for good this time, but the man looked like he needed a change of lifestyle himself cause he smoked so much I'm sure even his farts smelled like cigarettes."

"Gross," the two say in unison.

"Right?.. Now to make things short, he told me he was interested in representing me under one condition..."

Both girls stare on expectantly.

"He wanted me to change my publishing name to Theodore. _Theodore._ That's one hell of a white man's name right there. So I gave him a 'Nah' bigger than Rosa's and I said 'To hell with ya' to the two men in that stink ass office. I kept my name and my dignity when I walked out of that door but lemme tell you the thing I didn't keep: my marriage."

"Momma told me til the day she died that I made the biggest mistake of my life when I got that divorce. I was the talk of the family for so long. Just imagine, a forty-something divorcée, no kids, pursuing a man's career... Disgrace! They wanted me to come back home. What was I gonna do in a city like New York all alone? But I had a bit of money saved up. I slept in shelters for a while until I got me a job in a small editing house. I wrote and wrote and wrote, hoping that one day someone out there would read it. And well, my loves, eventually they did..."

Theo sits back on the chair, exhausted. "Now I ain't telling you two anything else for the rest of the day cause you've made me go off like I haven't in years and I'm _tired_. Besides, you two oughta tell me how school is going as well."

Anna pouts before she shares a look with Elsa to see if the blonde will bring up her trip. At the sight of mild hesitation, she encourages her with a nod. 

"Well," Elsa says, "I was offered a position at a research project in London next semester." 

Theo widens her eyes and lifts up her hands in a way that makes Anna think she's going to reach out and pinch Elsa's cheeks.

"Oh, honey, this is good!"

Elsa smiles bashfully. "Thank you."

"Don't thank _me._ Thank yourself. You're the one with that brain and that dedication." She turns to look at Anna, "Am I right, sugar pie?"

Anna nods. Beneath the table, she squeezes Elsa's hand. 

"I'm very proud of her," she states. 

Her elbow is propped on the table and her hand is supporting her chin. She is gazing directly at Elsa, observing her features, taking them in as if for the first time. The clear, winter light that seeps through the window falls fully upon her. The blue of her eyes is crystal clear, the freckles on her cheeks powdery faint. There's a need cursing through Anna's veins that makes her want to reach out and brush aside the lock of hair that tends to fall across her forehead.

It is right here that realization overcomes each of her senses. Anna's heart has blossomed to the point of bursting into something she's never felt before. Something akin to love.

"Well I think baby girl's far away and beyond..." She hears Theo say. 

Anna snaps out of it. "Sorry," she mutters.

A teasing smile grows on Elsa's face.

Theo takes her time throwing one question after another in regards to the trip and the project. The more she asks, the further Elsa lets go of the shyness in her answers. 

Never once does she let go of Anna's hand.

Theo then turns to the redhead. "What about you, my dear? This is your last semester ain't it?"

Anna nods.

"Any big plans? Will you start looking for work 'til after the big ceremony?"

"Well, I'm starting to look into it now... Elsa's helping me with the research."

"Ah, dream team," Theo grins. She leans over the table and pats her hand. "You'll find something soon, I'm sure. Just don't lose sight of your goals."

"I won't." 

Theo winks at her; a gesture that feels like a shared secret.

They talk for a while longer, but the girls announce their departure after they become aware of the tired slouch in Theo's shoulders. Theo acquiesces although not before one last request.

"Elsa, honey, would you mind going up to my room and gettin' the presents I have for you? They're on my desk. You won't miss 'em, they're wrapped in that awful reindeer paper that looks like my three year-old grandniece drew it."

Elsa chuckles but agrees easily before stepping away without scrapping the armchair.

"Okay, that girl should take a few extra minutes looking for the gifts so that gives us some time."

"Didn't you say they were on the desk?"

"Nah, they're in my closet."

"Why—wait, what do we need time for?"

"To talk." Theo rearranges herself on the chair, assuming the same matron-like position she'd had the first time Anna met her. "Tell me what's on your mind, sugar."

Anna is hesitant. "Is this about Elsa's trip?"

Theo hums sassily. "Yes and no. It's about anything you wanna talk about, cause I can see a lot of emotions going on that kinda contradict each other."

Anna glances around feeling like she's been thrown into a jeopardy game. How many minutes have gone by? Two? Elsa might be about to enter Theo's room. She will begin rummaging carefully in another minute or so after not finding the presents on the desk. 

Eight minutes left on the clock, Anna...

"Was I making faces?" She asks. There's no substance in her question; no meaning at all. But it's all that comes to mind under the pressure of this impromptu little game.

Theo chuckles. "You're an open book, sugar... Alright, lemme help you cause we don't have much time. Are you scared she'll meet someone else?"

Anna thinks this over as she looks down at her empty cup of tea. The bag lays soggy at the bottom, defeated.

"I guess it _could_ happen." Writing is her craft, she knows it's possible. But Elsa, the way she looks at Anna... It couldn't really be a possibility, could it? The thought of her finding someone else in London was never an issue in Anna's mind. Under their current circumstances it simply didn't _fit._

Was that pretentious? Naïve?

Theo nods thoughtfully before she says, "I wouldn't worry about that either." 

Before Anna can ask why, she throws her another question: "Is it the long distance?"

A bit of a jackpot there, perhaps?

Anna is struggling to think properly. This neon-light countdown in her head is getting in the way.

Theo lets out a small, exasperated cry. "Took less than I expected. She musta flown down the stairs," she mutters.

Anna twists her upper body to find Elsa walking back with two presents in her hand before she is stopped by Louie, who is holding an iPad he can't quite figure out how to unlock. Her braid is a little disheveled and she is breathing faster than usual. 

This gets an unwarranted chuckle out of Anna. Of course she would try to get the job done in less minutes than a regular person. _She's a bit weird like that_ , she wants to tell Theo.

When she turns back around, Theo places her hand on top of hers. She briefly takes in the stark difference between the smoothness and the colors of their skins. In Theo, there are years upon years of wisdom painted on the wrinkles of her hand; in her, there are decades of a life not yet lived.

"How 'bout this, sugar. You don't have to bring honey over there to pay me a visit. I'm growing roots on this chair, I ain't going anywhere. So next time you can come by yourself if you'd like. I'll make you scotch tea like my momma used to make and we'll talk, you and me."

"Sounds good," Anna grins.

"Sorry," Elsa breathes when she approaches them. "Louie wanted to take pictures for his grandkids but he says the 'darn thing' keeps shutting the camera off. I told him it's because he keeps pressing on the lock button instead of the camera."

"Did you say it loud enough? Cause Lou's deafer than that composer he keeps playin' nonstop, what's his name?"

"Beethoven?"

"Ay, that one."

The girls chuckle before Theo points out whose present is whose and makes them promise that they won't open them until they get home.

On their way back to the train station Elsa speaks out.

"Anna, what are your plans for next week?" She asks casually. Too casually it's suspicious.

"None," the redhead says. "Why?"

"It is the fourteenth next week..."

"Okay..."

"People do all kinds of cheesy stuff that day, no?"

"I would say so, yes."

"Would you like to hang out?"

There's a big laugh building up in the back of her throat. "Are you asking me out on a date, Elsa?"

Her girlfriend recognizes the hint of amusement in her voice and turns to her with the most coquettish look she can muster. She stops them both, twirls her hand ostentatiously and takes a deep bow.

"Why, yes, milady. Yes I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I apologize for the long ass chapters? I feel like I should sometimes lol. OH! I forgot. If you're ever in NY or if you live in NY, go to Café Reggio on Macdougal st. This is Anna's spot!


	12. Doubt thou the stars are fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!!! First of all, HAPPY NEW YEAR! Second of all, I'm sorry it took me so damn long to update. The holidays got in the way and then I had to impose a break on myself because I was starting to experience some writer's block and we don't want that lol. This chapter is light. There's some bromance, there's Marta and her hubby, there's heaps of elsanna fluff (and I mean FLUFF) oh and lemons! There's uh, lemons in this guys; more detailed this time. And my nemesis, I've concluded. That's probably why it took me so long to write this as well. I STRUGGLE. But I hope the effort pays off and you guys, well... enjoy it. 
> 
> Another quick note. If you go to the beginning of this story you'll notice that I've written ''PART 1'' at the top. I'm dividing this into two main chunks. I'm saying no more than that... you'll see when we get there. The title of this chapter comes from a quote from Shakespeare's Hamlet which I'll share at the end.
> 
> No more o'that, then... Enjoy!

Elsa has never _ever_ been on an official date on Valentine's Day.

The closest thing she ever had to a Valentine's date was when she was fourteen and a boy had asked her out in the middle of a hallway crammed with students moving like ants in a colony. In the eyes of her mother, who had dropped her off at the movie theater that day, he was a very handsome boy. He had dark, almost black hair; keen, bright eyes, and a timid although charming smile. Elsa had only shared one class with him that year but she knew he could have been able to carry a conversation had he not fallen short to her already low, indifferent expectations. Still, he carried attributes that even her father might have approved of; attributes that would have succeeded in making the majority of the girls her age swoon.

That is, for a majority that did not include Elsa, who went as far as acknowledging these traits by viewing them with as much interest as if she were staring at an empty board before class.

That afternoon had the potential of being the epitome of a freshman's date: meet him outside the movie theater, partake in small talk as you wait in line, then proceed to sit in front of a screen while you share popcorn and watch a movie you have zero interest in because you're too busy thinking whether said boy will kiss you or at least hold your hand. Come out of the theater, go buy ice cream or have dinner at an unassuming place where half of the student body is already eating off the same menu, off the same three items. Say goodbye to said boy right before your dad or your mom—but most likely your dad—pulls up. Share an awkward goodbye hug, and perhaps let yourself receive a boyish kiss on the cheek. Watch him stand there with his hands in his pockets as he waits for your car to slowly drive away. Answer your father's inquiring, not so subtle questions. Think that the night couldn't have been better even though, deep down, you know it could have...

Repeat.

True, Elsa had only learned about half of these things through movies; the rest, she had filled in the blanks. But regardless of how the date had unfolded, Elsa had known the outcome since the beginning. She had felt no excitement, no giddiness and no commitment. She had only said yes because the boy had asked her in front of practically everyone and Elsa has never been one to cruelly embarrass people.

And although borderline awkward, the date itself had been painless. Elsa ended up going home after the movie was over under the excuse that her parents were highly strict and didn't allow her to be out so late—it was barely 8 PM. The boy had been decent enough to say he understood and Elsa still recalls feeling guilty for lying, especially when he had gone out of the way to buy her a heart-shaped box of chocolates at the pharmacy (she had seen that same box during her trip with her mother the day prior). In her defense, she has always argued with herself that she might have put more effort into having fun if a) he had chosen something that didn't require to sit idly for an hour and a half and b) he hadn't tried so hard to impress her.

Either way, the boy never asked her out again, and that Valentine's day culminated with Elsa cuddled up in her bed, reading Tipping the Velvet and dunking chocolate chip cookies in a glass of cold milk, (she should have known something was out of the ordinary when she ditched a boy to spend the rest of the night reading a lesbian novel).

In conclusion, Elsa has never been one to view the 14th of February as a day meant for grand romanticism. Last year she crashed the pharmacy with Rapunzel the day after Valentine's day and bought as much discounted chocolate as they could humanly consume. The year prior to that she spent it inside a library reading about the brain.

However, this year... this year is special. This year she will spend it with a girl— _a girl,_ for the first time—with whom Elsa has fallen in love. A girl who happens to be her girlfriend and who deserves a splendid Valentine's day that Elsa will try the best and the hardest to provide ( _look how the mighty have fallen)._

The problem is, she is drawing a monumental blank.

Elsa is hoping that by staring at her brown, sugarless coffee while she sits alone at the counter of her kitchen, she will find the answers she needs to come up with for a memorable date. But nothing has occurred to her in the last thirty minutes and, on an increasingly conscious level, she doubts something ever will if she continues to spend her time like this.

Although perhaps... _perhaps_ she is looking at this the wrong way. It is the little details that add up to grand gestures, after all. So what if she focuses on those?

The door to her cousin's room opens and Eugene quietly sneaks out wearing his own version of pajamas—basketball shorts and a worn-out Led Zeppelin shirt. "Morning," he tells her, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

He walks past her on the counter and squeezes her shoulder just as she mirrors the reply.

There's a bit of familiarity in the way he moves around the kitchen that the blonde can't help but notice without feeling bothered. After all, he has played such a key role in her cousin's happiness lately that Elsa can feel nothing but gratefulness and appreciation towards him. And to think that he was also Anna's friend before they had all met each other; it's as though both he and Anna were meant to come and weave their lives through Elsa and Rapunzel's own.

"Is Rapunzel still sleeping?" She asks after a few minutes of silence.

"Like a rock," Eugene says. "I swear an apocalypse can go down right now and that girl will still wake up feeling dainty and refreshed."

Elsa chuckles. "I wish I had that talent."

"Same," he grins. As he leans by the stove waiting for the water to be ready, he observes her for a brief moment before he asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah," the blonde says more casually than necessary. "I was just thinking about Valentine's Day."

"It's this weekend."

Elsa nods absentmindedly. "Do you guys have anything planned?"

"Rapunzel wants to go to the zoo," he says before rubbing the last remnants of sleep off his scruffy face. "So we'll go there, then we'll take a walk in the park if the weather's nice and then dinner. Nothing fancy, y'know."

He turns to the stove, decides that the water has taken long enough and pours it on the mug he's readied with instant coffee. He takes it black, it seems, because he makes no move towards the fridge but instead lingers in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Sure."

There are two bar stools at the counter. Elsa has taken over one while Eugene takes over the other one. They could mirror a scene at any bar, she thinks in a flash. A bar with pajama wearing patrons instead of lousy drunkards and instant coffee instead of cocktails.

"What about you two?"

"I have no clue yet... that's what I was thinking about just now."

Eugene hums pensively. They stay silent for a few moments.

"I know Anna acts like she'd rather live in a Broadway musical twenty-four seven," Eugene tells her. "But she likes the simple things too... I mean I'm sure you knew that already, but it might help to hear it from someone else? I have no clue—" he takes a sip from his coffee; an action that rearranges his thoughts— "I think Anna would like anything you do for her. And I mean _anything_... she's nuts about you, so you could probably get away with taking her to Chuck E. Cheese or something like that."

"Is there a Chuck E. Cheese in the city?"

Eugene laughs out loud. "Please don't take her to Chuck E. Cheese. I was just kidding!"

"So was I."

Was she?

_God, I need to come up with something soon._

"You know what we all did last year?" Eugene asks.

"What?"

"We were all single," he reminisces. "So Anna dragged us to the Met. It felt like a damn school trip cause we spent the afternoon there, bored out of our minds while Anna went off on rants about the Egyptians, the Greeks and the Frenchies."

_My kind of girl,_ Elsa muses, smiling.

"So as you can see, that girl's up for anything. Just don't think too much or you'll end up frustrated and going for the last resort."

"Which is..?"

Eugene grins. "Chuck E. Cheese."

Rapunzel pads out of her room then, giving off a happy and sleepy smile that the two correspond amusedly.

"Coffee time?" She asks them.

"Gotta make your own, sweet pea," Eugene teases.

"Whatever." Rapunzel heads over to the stove and reenacts the same scene her boyfriend played out moments ago. "What are you guys up to?"

"We're trying to come up with ideas for a date," Eugene says.

"Between the two of you?"

"Ew—"

"—she wishes."

Rapunzel laughs before Elsa and Eugene continue discussing ideas and the brunette focuses on not letting the water boil to the point of vapor—it's happened once before.

"Oh! I know!" Her cousin jumps up suddenly, the spoon she's about to stir her coffee with pointing upwards to accentuate her epiphany: "Stargazing!"

An idea flickers in Elsa's mind while Eugene snorts. "Babe, where would you even stargaze in this city?"

"On roofs," she tells him like he's a little slow.

"You can only see the moon and like, two stars from most roofs. There's too much light."

Rapunzel bites the inside of her cheek and mutters something Elsa can't quite catch before she turns her wandering attention back to her coffee.

"We'll do some stargazing in July," Eugene tells the room as a way of lessening the mood that derives from something as disappointing as stargazing in a city like New York.

The brunette turns to him then to Elsa. "We're going, right?" She asks her cousin.

Elsa frowns, confused. "Where?"

"Kristoff's place. Well, his dad's..."

"Oh, yes." She had completely forgotten about this. In Elsa's own emotional processor, it was too early to get excited; July was still months away.

"I heard he was a prick," Rapunzel whispers theatrically.

Eugene shrugs. "A prick with money, apparently. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"Uh, no? That doesn't make him a better prick, Eugene."

"Who said anything about a _better_ prick. I said a prick with money."

"And how many types of pricks are there?"

"Well there's the poor pricks, there's the straight-up pricks, the rich pricks..."

Elsa hears them but she's not exactly listening anymore. The idea of stargazing is out of the question... sort of. But what if she could do something among the same style? Something that could allow her to utilize the little aspects and the little tokens she knew Anna liked?

" _Guys_ —" she says, interrupting their bickering "—I'm gonna need your help."

* * *

Elsa has spent the last three days checking the forecast compulsively. The humidity, the precipitation, even the historical averages for good measure.

She needs this to be perfect from start to finish, and given that they will be partaking in outdoor activities Elsa has got to make sure Anna doesn't freeze to death. Not that it's freezing, really, but Anna seems to be hypersensitive to the cold so she's asked Eugene to help her bring up all the blankets he could wrap his arms around while Rapunzel helped with as many pillows as she could carry without falling—so, two for herself. The whole thing feels somewhat illegal and Elsa really hopes their landlord has no way of finding out just how often they've gone up on the roof lately. They've already had to climb the stairs right after dawn so that there are as little witnesses on the streets as possible. Eugene hadn't appreciated that, even less so Rapunzel, but can anyone blame her for not wanting to get evicted?

She's also asked her cousin to stay at Eugene's tonight, which took zero effort because apparently that was in the plans already. So all Elsa is left with is the minutiae of her preparations before she has to go pick Anna up from work and begin what will be the most significant date Elsa will ever plan.

In the meantime, there's one more important aspect she needs to take care of.

The lady that works at the Funky Town bodega is a head shorter than Elsa. There's a few gray strands that run through her sleek, black hair and crow's feet that sprout from the corners of her eyes and deepen each time she smiles. She is sweeping the floor behind the counter when Elsa walks in and throws her a 'Welcome' that is barely heard above the latin music playing from a portable speaker.

When Elsa approaches her, she lowers the volume from her phone until the song becomes nothing but quiet, unintelligible words.

"Hello," she says warmly, leaning the broom on the counter. "How can I help you?" Her accent is heavily Hispanic but Elsa is too ignorant to pinpoint the country she could be from.

"Hi—uh, Marta?"

"Yes," she smiles. "Can I help you?"

"Um, yes... I'm Elsa, I live upstairs and my girlfriend—Anna, she comes here sometimes to buy hot chocolate. Not sure if you remember her? She's this height—" her hand goes up to her forehead "—redhead, freckles, very pretty, loves to talk..." _She gets it, Elsa._

"Oh yes yes! Annie! She's very sweet... You want hot chocolate then?"

"I—yes! We're having a picnic today and we really like your hot chocolate, so that's why I'm here... Sorry, I don't know why I had to say all that..."

"It's okay, she talks a lot too," she reassures her. "She told me she had a girlfriend here but I said I never see her. She said 'she's blonde, very beautiful' but I didn't remember any blondes here. Not beautiful ones—" she hushes, her hand shielding the side of her mouth, "but you're beautiful, sweetie! You don't come often, no?"

Elsa can feel herself blushing but there is no time for humility and not a chance to reply because Marta is already craning her neck towards the back of the bodega and hollering, "Luis!"

"Ey!" Is heard from somewhere inside the bodega's storage room.

"Necesito que me hagas dos chocolates, viejo!" She shouts before flashing Elsa an appeasing smile.

There's a loud clatter that is followed by resigned silence before Luis comes out of the door that is adjacent to the farthest end of the counter. He is wiping his hands with a kind of towel one would usually find at a mechanic shop, worn-out and due for more damage than cleanly benefits. His face is certainly familiar and Elsa figures her schedule must match his own rather than Marta's at the bodega. It would explain why she has never met this short, chummy lady before.

"Hi miss," Luis tells Elsa, quickly nodding his head in a gesture of uneducated formality.

A tiny 'Hi' escapes her lips. 

Luis goes to the employee's restroom in the back, leaves the door open and quickly washes his hands.

"Anna loves your hot chocolate," Elsa tells Marta in an attempt to make small talk.

"Ay me too... but too much sugar, you know?"

"It's a worthy pleasure," she smiles. She then turns to Luis and asks as politely as she can if he could perhaps pour the drinks into the two thermos she's brought with her. As she's about to hand them over, she stops—

"Wait..." The beat changes: "It's too early."

Marta and Luis are frozen in place, bewildered. "For what?" He asks his wife.

"The picnic, menso."

Elsa frowns. How did she not think of this? The drinks will surely be cold by the time she and Anna make their way up to the roof.

"We can delivery to you," Marta tells her.

The blonde bites her lip. "Do you—I mean, could you?" The last thing she wants to do is impose her own personal needs onto someone else's responsibilities.

"Of course!" Marta waves her hand. "What time is the picnic? Luis can delivery to you before you go."

"Oh, we're not going anywhere—not exactly..."

The woman stares at her, perhaps trying to understand how you could possible have a picnic in your own home and still call it that, but she doesn't ask for any more details than the time and her apartment number. Elsa pays them for far more than two hot chocolates and thanks them more than once, but given that she cannot afford to linger any longer, half-apologizing, half-thanking them, she exits the bodega.

She needs to go back upstairs, get ready, and check the forecast for the fourth and last time today.

* * *

Elsa reminisces the first time she followed the same path she is following now, when she had only known Anna for a week and nothing occupied her mind more than the thought of seeing her again. Since then, events have unraveled so fast Elsa feels as though she were free-falling, like scenes flashing through her mind: their first walk together, their time spent in Columbia, the impromptu make-out scene at a random park, their conversations with Theo; their first time making love and the countless of times since then. Elsa goes through it all and she can't help the smile that blossoms in her face. For every time Anna laughs in her memories, her steps become lighter, each carrying the intention of reaching her destination faster and seeing her girlfriend sooner.

When she reaches the entrance of the bookstore she sees Anna waiting on the other side of the door. The redhead catches her eyes and before she can take a step further, she bursts out of the place.

Elsa lets her fall into her arms, never getting tired of the way Anna hugs her so completely and so unconditionally. With no barriers; with her entire being. 

The redhead giggles next to her ear as Elsa holds her tighter for a second before their lips meet. Elsa melts into the kiss, sighing through her nose. How something as simple as this kiss can feel so deliciously good is not something Elsa wishes to comprehend; she lets it be for what it is.

"Hi, lovely," she says when they separate.

"Hi, gorgeous." Anna grins.

"Ready?"

Anna nods. She lets Elsa guide her through the streets and back towards the subway station. She has no idea where they're headed so the blonde is silently hoping that she doesn't show too much disappointment when she realizes it's her apartment she's taking her to. Regardless, she dodges every single question Anna asks in an attempt to know the wheres, whats, whys and hows of their date. She lets her squirm with curiosity all the way back to her place.

Either Anna has an idea of what they'll be doing or, like Eugene said, she really doesn't mind the destination as long as she's with Elsa, because the girl doesn't even bat an eye when they enter her apartment building. She does, however, scrunch her face in confusion when they find Luis standing outside her door holding a small picnic basket.

"Luis?"

"Hi ladies!"

"Hi!" Elsa squeals.

She fumbles with her keys at the same time that she tells Anna to go inside and awkwardly tries to block from her the sight of the obliviously smiling man. Anna does so, although suspiciously, and Elsa breathes a sigh of relief as soon as the door chuts behind her.

"Hi," she tells Luis again, "I'm sorry, she doesn't know what I have planned, and—I'm really sorry again... had you been waiting outside for a while?"

"Ehh, no," he says, easy-going. "I just knocked, miss, is okay. My wife said to bring you this," he lifts the basket that, until now, Elsa had not paid real attention to. It almost makes her lift her hand up to her chest in deep appreciation. She had expected two thermos with hot chocolate but instead she got a full basket of sweet bread a _nd_ the two thermos most likely filled to the rim.

"Oh my God," she breathes.

"What? Not good?" Luis asks, looking down at the basket he's still holding.

"No no no, it is! I just—I don't know how to thank you guys," she says sincerely before she accepts the generous favor. "Please tell Marta that I'm really, really grateful and that I'll stop by tomorrow to thank you guys properly."

She has no idea what she means by properly but at this point she's torn between rushing inside and thanking Luis a few more times, so not much of what she's saying is being filtered by her rational mind. The last thing she does manage to do before Luis leaves is give him a one arm hug that is as awkward as the one the man returns. Elsa is not one to jump at the chance of expressing herself through physical gestures, especially not with people she barely knows, but the favor they've both done for her is a rightful exception to her rule. It is sudden, yes; awfully impulsive. But it's entirely meaningful.

There is a silence that engulfs her as soon as she steps into the apartment. So much so that Elsa would think it unoccupied if it weren't because she witnessed Anna walk inside.

"Anna?"

"In here!" She hears coming from her room.

Being alone with Anna finally manages to soothe the edgy nervousness she's been feeling on and off since this morning. Inside her room, she finds the redhead lying on her bed, reading the pink Neruda book she has kept on her nightstand since last August.

Elsa could probably recite entire poems by now; she's that much of a connoisseur.

Teal eyes peek from the top of the book. They take a quick glance at the basket Elsa is carrying. "What's that?"

"Come with me and find out."

Anna lets out a little squeal of excitement, puts the book back where it belongs and jumps out of the bed. She goes for the door but Elsa stops her from sneaking past her. "It's not this way," the blonde says.

"Elsa, this is the only way to the exit, unless you've got some sort of teleportation superpower I wasn't aware of."

A shapely eyebrow arches in defiance. "I might, for all you know, but you're not ready for that yet so we're gonna use the stairs instead." She nods at the window behind Anna, nudging her towards it.

Her girlfriend gasps the moment realization hits her. "The rooftop, yes!"

Elsa has hauled the desk to the side so that both she and Anna—but mostly Anna—don't trip on their way out through the window. It can be so easy to get your foot caught on the frame or on the iron grates that Elsa sets the pace by moving at the near rate of a snail despite Anna's little grunts of impatience. Thankfully, her building is only five floors tall and the trip doesn't last but a few minutes.

On the last landing before the vertical ladder Elsa asks Anna to stay put. Already squirmish about breaking the law while Anna waits around on the fire escape, her nerves reach a peak when she has to maneuver her way up with the basket hanging from her arm. A cold breeze hits her back, sending shivers up her spine before she makes the idiotic decision of looking down. She had meant to look at Anna but her girlfriend is too busy looking out at the street and is nowhere near her direct line of sight. So what she sees instead through the grates is the concrete of the sidewalk, five floors down. Vertigo slaps her, _hard,_ and Elsa has to swallow the squeal that threatens to escape her throat. Perhaps she could climb back down, suggest a movie at home, some cuddles and popcorn; she knows Anna would agree to anything. But no... she's put too much effort into this.

Elsa desperately and unsteadily climbs the last four steps. She breathes a sigh of relief upon reaching the flatness of the rooftop and an even greater relief washes over her when she finds that everything has remained as she left it this morning, when she felt like she was getting involved in a gamble she couldn't possibly win against the wind and the ruthless pigeons of the city. In a rush, Elsa goes to place the basket in the center of the blankets before she takes a few extra minutes readying the last few details and runs back to the edge of the rooftop to let Anna know she can come up now too.

She has to tell her girlfriend to climb slower when she starts taking rushed and careless steps. 

When Anna joins her on the top—impervious to the height and oblivious to Elsa's little anxiety party—she freezes upon the sight of what Elsa has prepared. But the longer she stands there without saying a word, the more Elsa begins to think that perhaps she's missed something or the idea has not been good enough to impress her. She observes= the result of all her efforts with a hint of self-consciousness. There are twenty flameless candles that provide just enough light, scattered around a makeshift bundle of cream, violet and blue blankets (all the spare ones she could find around the house). The basket Marta has prepared lays in the middle of it, while four pillows rest toppling one another and which Elsa has arranged strategically. In fact, she thinks they have been arranged perfectly, because as they face the North side of the island, it is possible to have a clear view of a skyline in which the Empire State Building stands prevailing.

Elsa then looks up at the sky. She finds that scarcely any stars are shining tonight before she hears Anna say something under her breath.

"What's that?"

Anna's eyes widen with every inch her head turns. "This is amazing!" She throws her arms around Elsa with such a force that the blonde has to take a step back to support the impact.

"This is awesome!" Anna hushes next to her ear. 

Elsa lets out a small laugh of relief that is shortened by Anna's lips on her own. Anna gives her a kiss, then another, and another. She pecks the corner of her mouth, her cheeks, her nose. All of it with an outpouring of affection that Elsa welcomes without protest.

"I take it you sort of like it?" She giggles as Anna clumsily moves her lips from the tip of Elsa's chin to her neck.

"I love it," Anna mumbles against her skin. 

The blonde guides her towards the blankets as she begins to recount how the idea was conceived, the help she received from Eugene and Rapunzel, and Luis and Marta's involvement at the last minute.

She must admit there are a few diminutive faults in her plan. Like the very fact that Anna is going to have to help her carry everything down—which limited the objects she brought up to begin with—or the fact that it's not as warm as she wishes it were, which means that they have to hang around the rooftop with a blanket each over their shoulders. However, all of this becomes trivial the moment Anna gushes over every little detail of the set-up. From inside the sack bag she has carried with her, Elsa pulls out a pair of sandwiches she had prepared in the afternoon; a simple meal that is somehow one of Anna's all-time favorites. A handful of chocolate bars comes next and lastly, two bottles of water, because she doesn't want Anna to overdose on all the sugar that's been packed for the night.

The coldness of mid-February, although stiff, is not unbearable, and the two girls are able to sit comfortably enough as they begin to eat. Elsa tells her she's finally sent out her acceptance to the research project offer and now waits for a scheduled meeting with the mentor. Anna talks about her shenanigans at work, about the current gossip amongst employees and about the few obnoxious customers she had to deal with during the day. It is then that Anna delves into how a guy had boldly asked her out while she was trying to help him find a book on the economics section. 

Elsa pauses midway through her chewing and narrows her eyes upon noticing Anna's mischievous little smile. 

"So what did you tell him?" She tries to ask nonchalantly.

Anna shrugs before she takes a bite off her sandwich. She stalls, not answering until she's swallowed. "I said 'that's very sweet' but I have a girlfriend."

"And..?"

"Aaand he said 'that's a shame but if you're ever interested...' And then he winked at me."

"He winked."

Anna hums, not looking at her but at the sandwich.

Elsa is not amused. She's actually a tad bit appalled. "Does he go there often?" She asks coldly.

"I've never seen him before." 

"Okay."

Anna looks at her. She bites her lip. "Elsa... are you jealous?"

The blonde stares at her for a few seconds. She can see Anna is finding this increasingly entertaining but she gives in to the truth, if anything because she knows feigning indifference would be a silly thing to do.

"I am," she admits. "A little."

Anna giggles. "You do know that guy had zero chances, right? Him or anyone for that matter."

In response, Elsa sticks her tongue out. "I guess I'll have to hang around the bookstore a little more. Can't have all these people throwing themselves at you."

"You wouldn't," Anna grins before she takes another bite off her sandwich.

"Don't try me," she jokes... partly; she _will_ sock anyone that flirts with Anna in front of her.

When enough time has passed after they finish with their sandwiches, Elsa pulls the sweet bread out of the basket and hands Anna her thermos. The combination of both bread and hot chocolate is unlike anything Elsa has ever tried before but it immediately becomes a scrumptious delicacy when Anna tells her to dip it in the warm drink instead of just biting into it. 

"Marta told me that's how they do it," Anna mumbles through a mouthful of soggy bread, "and these are called _conchas_."

"I think I found my new addiction," Elsa mumbles back.

"I'll make sure to send you tons while you're gone."

" _Please._.. I don't think the British are very famous for their food."

Anna shakes her head. Her cheek is puffed up where she's stuck the last big chunk of bread.

"Speaking of the Brits," she starts once she's swallowed, "somebody brought a Shakespeare soliloquy to our poetry class yesterday. I don't think he got the memo that those things aren't exactly poems but whatever. The professor trashed him anyways cause it was Romeo and Juliet."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Nah but it's _so_ used up. It's like if they asked you to draw a detailed sketch of the heart in one of your classes and you drew the round little thingy, you know—" Anna begins shaping a heart in the air but her hands stop midair "—actually that doesn't make any sense at all."

Elsa laughs. The redhead grins sheepishly.

"What I'm trying to say is, everybody knows it and everybody uses it. Plus, writing aside... I think Romeo and Juliet are an overrated couple."

She gasps dramatically. "Are you telling me the greatest love story of all time is _overrated?_ "

"Are you kidding, their communication skills are horrible! They died because of a huge, silly misunderstanding! Then there's the fact that they were blindly _obsessed_ with each other. I mean I get it, Juliet was probably a cutie but damn they turned their backs on everybody else in an instant... I just—I don't know, to me it wasn't true love, it was more like really intense infatuation."

Anna's spiel is so ardent that the blue blanket has fallen off her shoulders and pooled around her body. She may be done with her bread but she is still nursing the thermos that she keeps swinging around with every statement she makes.

The blonde looks at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "What is true love for you then?"

Anna finishes the last of her hot chocolate and finally places the thermos back inside the basket next to Elsa's. She extends her legs afterwards, props herself on the heels of her hands and stretches her neck backwards in a small act of relish. Elsa smiles lovingly at her but with Anna's eyes closed, the redhead remains blissfully oblivious.

"I think... true love can mean lots of things." She lifts her head back up with a content smile on her face. "But it's gotta have good communication, that way you don't end up dying over a misunderstanding. Then you also have to take their needs into consideration, like how you carried a bunch of blankets mainly so that I wouldn't freeze to death—"

"It's not that bad," Elsa giggles.

"But still, you took it into consideration," Anna rebuts. "It also has to mean being there for the lowest of lows, right?"

Elsa nods and hums. "That's a very important part."

"Right... True love can also mean being able to make them laugh even when they're sad," she declares.

"A good comedian can make you laugh just as much."

"But a comedian doesn't give you butterflies in the stomach, Elsa."

"Which proves my point. You don't have to love someone to make them laugh."

"It's true love I said!" Anna grunts before she smacks her with a pillow.

Elsa laughs through her attempt at defending herself from Anna's sudden attack. She fails miserably, but so does Anna because she ends up with her upper body laying on top of Elsa's and the pillow thrown across the blankets. 

The redhead wiggles about so that her head can rest on Elsa's lap while both girls catch their breaths. Anna keeps on giggling from time to time but she goes soothingly quiet when Elsa begins to thread her fingers through her loose, copper hair.

Elsa then gazes at the nocturnal skyline: the bright lights emanating from an infinity of windows; the iridescent full moon hiding behind a lingering cloud; the airplanes travelling across the sky like flickering stars. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep, relishing breath as a cool breeze caresses her cheeks and she evokes in her mind the night she met Anna in a rooftop akin to this one, under the same imperceptible stars, in the middle of this colossal city. 

She looks back to that night as she now looks down at the girl that rests with her eyes closed and the ghost of a smile on her face. Elsa wishes she could freeze this moment in which they lay suspended, where time is a trivial matter; where it feels as though they are all alone in this world. Because perhaps then, this moment can remain safe and untouched by life's circumstances.

Perhaps then, Elsa can enjoy the meanings of true love and not once experience the fear that this could all be lost one day.

The intensity of her gaze compels Anna to open her eyes. For a few silent seconds they stare at each other, giving Anna the opportunity to slowly lift her hand up and brush aside the hair that has fallen across her forehead. Elsa's pulse quickens just as Anna's fingertips caress the frame of her face with a delicacy that leaves her breathless. Her heart feels like bursting inside her rib cage, as if it were to explode in a thousand pieces that will eventually fly away searching for haven in Anna's hands. And in a way, her heart does find its way out. In the merest of breaths and in the simplest of ways, for when Anna retrieves her hand back onto her chest, Elsa finally breathes out the inevitable...

"I love you."

Anna's eyes flicker in the dimmed space. Silence hovers. In a few, slow movements, she sits back up and captures Elsa's lower lip between her own in a shadow of a kiss that shakes Elsa to the core. A tremble courses through her body when Anna gently pushes against her lips and feels a cold hand graze her cheek.

When she separates herself from the blonde, Elsa finds teal, bottomless eyes smiling at her. "I love _you,"_ Anna says softly.

Elsa feels like crying and laughing at the same time and she vaguely wonders if she might be going insane. Her heart is a fluttering mess; that is as far as her rationality goes. But even less rational is Anna's reaction, because she has started giggling as though she were keeping an amusing secret from her.

"What's so funny?"

Anna grins. "Not what, _who_... You are. And I love you."

The blonde swoons. She silently prays to never, ever get tired of hearing those words.

"Is it true love, to your standards?" She teases.

"I'd sure as hell say so."

Elsa pecks her on the cheek. "I'd say it's missing a very important part, though."

"Well of course. I wasn't done with my list but you had to go and interrupt it with your smartass-ness."

She brings a hand to her heart, feigning indignation. "I just told you that I love you and this is how you treat me?"

Anna rolls her eyes through a growing smile. "Alright fine. What is missing?"

"A very insane physical attraction that leads to incredible, even more insane sex." That's not truly her opinion, she knows love is not the same as lust, but she is trying to be suave here.

She is trying to have sex with her girlfriend, dammit.

"Oh, right..."

"So... if what we have is true love then..." She begins drawing invisible patterns on the blanket with her finger. Her suave moves are not working, nor are her words. She's reached full stop here and has no idea how to proceed.

_Nice job, you sexy beast._

"Are you trying to take me to bed, Elsa?"

Whatever happened to her eloquence?

In an effort to recuperate a few remnants of her dignity, Elsa scoots closer, very much like a boy on his first date hoping to get to second base. She rests her hand on Anna's thigh, gives it a gentle squeeze, and says: "I want you. Just as much as I love you... Isn't that a wonderful combination?"

Anna stares at her, amused. "You're not making a lot of sense right now."

"Desire never makes sense, Anna."

"Smooth, I'll give you that."

Her girlfriend sits facing the other way at this point, and although the view is not as grand as the one the blonde faces, she still gives herself the chance to look out and enjoy it. It may also be that she is giving Elsa the opportunity to come up with more nonsense, but Elsa can't anymore. She can't because the moon is now reaching its highest point on the sky and is providing Anna with a pale complexion that seems almost ethereal. With her gaze glinting in the night, Elsa is in no need for stars... There is one sitting right here with her.

"You're beautiful."

Anna's eyes reconnect with her. "You're quite a sight yourself," she says, timidly joking.

The blonde leans closer until her nose brushes against Anna's smiling cheek. She breathes once, slowly, with the intention of engraving in her mind the feeling of home a simple scent can give her. She hears Anna let out a shaky sigh and then: "Take me back inside."

Anna doesn't need to say it twice.

Elsa is the first to come down the ladder with more urgency and less anxiety than she had going up. To carry everything down is an odyssey she had not foreseen but Anna makes it clumsily efficient by throwing the pillows and the blankets at her from each landing they pass. It might be the coldness forcing an expedited retreat or it might be plain, unfiltered lust, but the two make it back to her floor on record time. The blonde discards everything she's carrying onto the floor as soon as she's opened the window before she lithely steps into her room. Anna's foot gets caught in the frame and she snorts loudly as she topples down on Elsa's back.

After she's made sure that Anna is standing on both feet and the window has been shut, Elsa quickly scans her room. There is no illumination in it except for the ubiquitous light of the moon and a warm line glowing beneath her door. 

A hand tugs desperately at the hem of her jeans and Elsa understands the request. In a haste, she discards her sweater, her shoes and her jeans as she watches the redhead follow suit. When it all pools on the floor, she presses herself against Anna, kissing her senseless. Their naked bellies meet, their thighs collide. In the mellow darkness of the room she needs no guidance; she has spent days and nights memorizing the body she now caresses with maddening desire.

The bed is not her first destination when she boldly guides her girlfriend by the hips, and Anna lets out a gasp upon meeting the coolness of the wall that morphs into a moan when Elsa begins sucking on the spot right below her ear. The blonde nips softly at her neck and soothes it with a languid lick. Wave after wave of heat shoots straight towards her center as she squeezes Anna's ass and pulls her in. She can feel herself grow wet, sleek with lust.

The clasp of her bra comes undone after much fumbling and she grins into Anna's mouth at her girlfriend's little moment of success.

As the garment hits the ground without a sound, Elsa grabs Anna's wrists in order to pin them against the wall right above her head. Anna whimpers softly, the lust in her heavy-lidded eyes persuading her to press her thigh into Anna's center. She can feel the wetness even through the fabric as the redhead writhes against her, looking for enough friction that will give her the release she so needs. 

Anna's desire inflames Elsa's own and drives her to keep a tight hold on her wrists before her hand begins to make its way down. Elsa caresses her slender neck, briefly extending her fingers and holding onto it with gentle pressure. She passes her fingertips over her collarbone then her heaving, freckled chest. The nipple that grazes her palm is hard, helplessly aroused. Anna arches into the touch and Elsa squeezes hard with wanton.

"Fuck," Anna breathes. "Stop."

The primal instinct coursing through her body is reined in by a single word. There was something that until now, guided her actions, something animalistic, something that didn't fit in with her rational mind.

_Desire never makes sense._

Elsa lets go of her hands but Anna is nowhere near done. Her eyes burn with lust as they scan hungrily over her bare chest. "Lay down," she commands.

The blonde grins devilishly. "Make me." 

It is a gentle struggle for dominance in which Anna ends victorious. Elsa falls in bed, her mind hazy and her body renounced to the hands of the girl that towers over her.

Cold lingers on the tips of her fingers as she pulls Elsa's panties down her smooth legs and away from her feet.

"I love you," Anna says lowly before she kisses her with an intensity that makes Elsa's hips buckle. She moans the moment her center connects warmly with Anna's thigh and in response she hooks her leg around her lower back. She succumbs to the hand that touches her body with sensual possessiveness, but it is when an ardent mouth captures her hardened nipple that her center throbs once more with pleasure.

Elsa loses herself to the sensation of Anna's hot mouth over her skin; to the way she leaves wet kisses on her breasts, on her stomach and on her navel before she stops and hovers over her hip bone. She nips at the tender skin below her mouth and Elsa shivers, spreading her legs impulsively, welcoming the girl into her. A gasp escapes her when Anna starts sucking with the intention of leaving a mark that she will find the morning after, but her mind is much too hazy to protest. She holds tightly onto the sheets beneath her, clawing at them in an attempt to channel her physical desperation onto something that isn't Anna.

At the sudden absence of her touch, Elsa looks down. She finds blue eyes intently watching her before Anna's tongue languidly laps over her folds; an exquisite, warm wetness that meets with her own.

Her pleasure begins to gain momentum with the way Anna sucks and licks, savors and tastes Elsa's center. She weaves her hand through Anna's hair, lightly scratching at the scalp beneath her palm every time the redhead's tongue moves _just right_. Her back keeps arching involuntarily, her toes curling. Anna's mouth is incessant and delicious and Elsa can feel her body reaching an edge she's dying to meet. But it is when Anna slides two fingers inside of her that she breaks apart, because it takes no longer than a few, quick breaths for her body to explode into an orgasm that is magnified by Anna's flickering tongue over her most sensitive spot.

Her hips become erratic, her legs quiver in their bent position. Anna kisses her between her legs and on the inner sides of her thighs, leaving trails of Elsa's own moisture behind as she savors the last remnants of her arousal.

After finally making her slow way up, Anna props herself on one elbow. She is wiping her chin with a triumphant smile that makes the blonde chuckle.

"I love you," Elsa tells her.

There is a grin followed by a wiggling of the eyebrows: "Show me how much, my dahling."

Elsa flips her onto her back in one swift motion, letting out the soft laugh she seems to have reserved for Anna's little antics.

Bliss is the only thing she can feel right now. Pure and plenteous bliss at the hands of this feisty, brave and loving girl she calls Anna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamlet's quote as promised:  
> "Doubt thou the stars are fire;  
> doubt that the sun doth move;  
> doubt truth to be a liar;  
> but never doubt I love." (you, obvs... Shakespeare liked inconclusive sentences idk) 
> 
> Lastly, the Spanish:  
> "Necesito que me hagas dos chocolates, viejo!" The context may be self-explanatory, but she's screaming that she needs him to make two cocoas. 'Viejo' means old man, but when you've been married for a long time it's common to call your wife 'vieja' and your husband 'viejo'... in Mexico at least. 'Menso' means dummy.


	13. Future, past and present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was... heavy. It's 9k words and it took me some time to proofread so I can only hope it's clear of errors. There's a song that was continuously played while I worked on the second part of this chapter. It's called ''I don't know'' by Nick Hakim. The lyrics fit and so does the music, in my humble opinion.
> 
> I want to thank you guys for sticking around and continuing to read this story. Your support and your appreciation for this whole thing fuels me immensely. 
> 
> As a warning for this chapter, I made myself cry a little so... I hope you enjoy.

Anna loves March.

In reality, she loves every month of the year, but ever since moving to New York she's come to be extremely wary first and foremost of January, then December. She cannot do freezing temperatures. She simply can't. It is one thing to be in a place like Norway, or whatever wintry land they show in those desktop pictures that already come included in a Windows PC, where even Anna would consider vacationing if she had the proper clothing. But it is an entirely different thing to be in a city like New York, where even the blizzards get pissed at you just for existing. The winter is ruthless right on this spot of the planet. It makes you want to move to a place like Costa Rica where your co-worker once went three years ago and still won't shut up about it. It makes you irritable and angry that you even have to step out of your front door because you know you're risking a fall on hard ice. At least Anna knows that. Last winter it happened to her every week, like a routine she didn't sign up for.

Yet somehow, people stick around year after year, for reasons unbeknownst even to themselves. Anna's reason is that she's stuck in school so she can't leave. Although she knows she wouldn't abandon ship either, because she's a martyr and she is a sucker for New York during the rest of the year.

Like March. Late March. Spring is just around the corner and Anna would definitely mark it on her calendar if she had one. The frost is thawing on the great lawns of Central Park; the cherry blossoms are finally hinting at their return. The weather _could_ be better, it's rather gloomy actually, but you won't hear Anna complain.

Life is good. Elsa loves her, and she loves Elsa. Spring Break was awesome; lots of food, lots of sleep, lots of Elsa and lots of friends. Midterms went fairly smooth. She is graduating in two months. No, she hasn't found a job, thank you very much, but her hopes remain high. She's had a few interviews, a few call backs. No real job offers. That's called adulting and Anna doesn't mind too much because she's not unemployed. She can still pay the bills on time. Mr. Nap is on good terms with her. She hasn't forgotten her keys—only once but she left them at Elsa's apartment so she just went back and ended up staying—. Kristoff now has a girlfriend, apparently, whom she hasn't met (rude much?) but he seems happy; she was starting to think he was gay but oh well. Her writing is _going_ which is splendid on its own because sometimes it's not even that. She is writing tids and bits that she feels confident she can work into full stories, but not yet and that is okay. No rush. She's just getting started... Life is good.

And speaking of which...

Anna calls her girlfriend on the train destined to Forest Hills. If her memory serves her right, she won't be in class for at least another half hour. The phone rings while Anna glances around the almost empty car. There is a man leaning against the pole with his arms crossed and his head down; his faded jeans are covered in white paint, his calloused hands and his tarnished working boots, the same. Anna is about to tap his shoulder to let him know there is an empty seat next to her but Woodhaven Boulevard is announced through the speakers and the man looks up: it is his stop. When her focus shifts to the call once more she realizes Elsa has yet to pick up the phone. In two rings her girlfriend's formal voice will come on, apologizing for missing the call and assuring her that she will get back to her as soon as possible.

Anna frowns. She has never gotten to the recorded message before. Elsa has always been mindful of having her phone near her even though she rarely uses it because—as she's told Anna more than once—you never know if it could be an emergency. And even when she doesn't pick up, she declines it and dutifully sends Anna a message with the reason why, even if Anna has never demanded to know.

So she waits for seconds that become minutes, waiting for a text from Elsa to let her know she is studying at the library or about to have a meeting with a professor. That she will call her back soon.

But nothing comes.

If her stop hadn't been the last one, Anna would have missed it, because from the moment Elsa misses the call and fails to reach out, Anna starts becoming worried that something may be amiss. It's a queasy feeling; a knotty sensation building right above her stomach that gets a kick out of feeding off her insecurities.

In the few minutes between the train station and Castle Senior Center she calls Elsa again and this time, the ringing is cut short.

Her eyes don't leave her phone as she reaches almost by intuition the fence that leads to the entrance of Castle Senior Center, but instead of reaching over to lift up the lever of the latch, she halts. A drizzle has started to fall and yet, Anna remains staring at her phone, expecting; watching the fine drops begin to accumulate on the smooth surface of its screen in the hopes that Elsa's text will come soon.

And soon it does:

_Sorry. Not feeling well_

A churning sensation occurs in her chest as she frowns at the lack of emotion in Elsa's message. The frigidness is unexpected, the lack of a reason even more.

Anna types her reply with slight trepidation. Her fingers are shaky; the cold drizzle doesn't help.

_Are you sick? What happened? Did you stay home?_

Frustratingly, she wipes at the tiny screen with the sleeve of her sweater. Why had Elsa not mentioned this over the phone last night? Was she feeling unwell even then? She sounded fine. Anna could have sworn she sounded okay.

_I'm not sick just at home. I think I'll go back to sleep though..._

A voice screams inside her head: _but Elsa doesn't like naps!_ Anna knows this after trying numerous times to get them to take one together, in which case she always ends up passed out while Elsa reads a book and plays with her hair.

In conclusion, Elsa. Doesn't. Like. Naps.

And Anna has no idea how to reply... Typing 'okay' sounds aloof, 'call me later?' too needy. 'YOU DON'T TAKE NAPS!' is too aggressive and highly assuming now that she thinks about it.

_Do you want me to come over?_

Anna begins nipping at her lower lip; an action she has noticed tends to happen when she feels anxiety creeping over her body. The fact that she has to ask Elsa if she needs her by her side while feeling this much tentativeness is not lost on her either. She is unsure, for the first time when it comes to Elsa, of how to act. But still, the question feels necessary. As though she can't just show up at Elsa's door and tell her 'I am here. What's wrong?'

A few seconds pass without response. Anna has yet to head for the entrance of the senior center and a single shiver runs through her body in an attempt to warm up. It is demanding that she makes a decision soon.

_No I'm okay really,_ Elsa finally replies.

_Later?_ she adds right away.

_Of course,_ Anna writes feeling slightly reluctant. And then: _Will you let me know if you need anything?_

_I will... Say hi to Theo_

A pause. Another shiver.

_I love you,_ Elsa writes.

A soothing balm that does little to appease her uneasiness. Her bubbling insecurities are screaming at her (forget what she's told you, she _needs_ you) to take the train back to Manhattan, storm inside Elsa's apartment and demand to know what's wrong. They nag at her to be useful, to be a good girlfriend for Christ's sake, and go be by her side. Because what if Elsa actually wants her there? What if she decides to stay in Queens while Elsa is at home dealing with who knows what, alone, because she cannot discuss this over text and is in reality waiting for Anna to just _go_?

Anna leans against the fence and shuts her eyes tightly. She can feel the cool droplets falling upon her face as she breathes once, then twice, trying to keep her insecurities at bay. It cannot be that Elsa is shutting her out because she's done something wrong. She _knows_ she hasn't, no matter how many false accusations her mind may come up with. Elsa is simply shutting her out because... why? Because she needs the space. Because Elsa is the other side of her goddamn coin and she needs to be alone for a while whereas Anna will always run for the comfort of her arms the second something's wrong. Besides, Elsa has given her a short and simple 'No' but she has also told her that later is okay.

Later...

( _I will never tell you something I don't mean_ ).

She comes to her decision before she steps resolutely away from the fence... and reaches for the latch. Anna knows she is charging head-on against all urges here but she also knows that she must respect Elsa's request. Her insecurities are hers alone; to go back when the blonde has asked her not to would be to provide herself, and not Elsa, the comfort.

If it is her girlfriend's wish to be alone right now then so be it. No matter how much Anna will spend the next few hours worrying about her, and no matter how much Anna will have to struggle with her own impulsive nature.

_I love you too,_ she tells her in the end. _I'll keep my phone near if you need me to come sooner_

She walks in, greets Laurie behind the desk and signs in. The feeling of the drawing room matches the mood outside. It is almost empty, engulfed in unusual quietness. She finds Theo deeply engaged in a book at the far end of the room, on her concurred place by the window.

On her way over she greets Greta, who mentions she is knitting socks for her baby grandkid and then laughs because she says she's forgotten his name again. Anna giggles softly. It helps a little.

She spends a few minutes trying to help her remember the name—what's the first letter? Maybe he's got the name of somebody else in the family?— but Greta, petite Greta who must have been feisty enough to keep a brothel going, giggles like a schoolgirl and tells her not to worry. The name will come; it always comes. She takes her failing memory without a grain of salt, and Anna wants to be like her when she grows old. Unwavering and free.

Theo is beginning to stand up by the time Anna makes it to the table. The redhead apologizes for having taken so long to visit but the elder dismisses it with a wave of her hand.

"What'cha reading?" Anna asks as Theo wraps her in a tight hug.

"The Four Loves, darlin'... C.S. Lewis. I'll give it to you when I'm done. I think you'll like it. It's light and sweet, like a nice meringue."

"Sounds good," she grins.

Today, Theo is wearing a dress with an array of warm colors, as well as a traditional Doek displaying an explosion of reds, oranges and yellows woven in a tribal pattern that wraps securely around her head and ends in an intricate knot on the front.

"I like your outfit," Anna tells her.

"Thank you, sugar." Her wrinkly hand goes up to lightly touch the Doek, welcoming the compliment. "My baby sister gave this to me years ago for my birthday but I only like to wear it as an indulgence."

"It's very pretty."

"That's why it's an indulgence," Theo winks. "By the way, did y'all like your presents?"

"We loved them," Anna grins. Each had gotten a knitted scarf: baby blue for Elsa and emerald green for Anna. As an additional, personal token, the blonde received the first edition of a book she had repeatedly mentioned she wanted but never got around to buying it, a book Theo wrote a small note on its first page and which Elsa took two days to read out of their Spring Break. One which Anna recalls having seen the title of and thinking: _You freaking nerd._ For herself, Theo got a scarlet journal so small it barely fit the size of her hand. The pages were thick, as if recycled more than once, and on the inside of its cover was scribbled Theo's name along with a year: 1982. She had found it in an antiquarian bookshop in Amsterdam, she now explains, but had decided, in a hunch, to leave it unused for a reason she hadn't understood until now. She had reserved it for a girl that would remind her of herself, forty years later.

"Now next time you come, you gotta let me know. I promised to make you scotch tea but when you show up unannounced all I can offer you is unadulterated tea and those stale cookies Serge keeps stealin' from the kitchen."

Anna chuckles, "We can do that... Do you have a cellphone?"

"Nah, I couldn't work that out to save my life. Just call here and they'll let me know."

"Alrighty," she says.

Sitting with Theo keeps Anna from falling into the well of her self-consuming thoughts. It may not succeed at getting her mind off of Elsa in its entirety (nothing ever could, could it?) because she keeps fidgeting with her hands under the table, worried and slightly uneasy. But conversations with Theo are never dull, and the freedom to talk about other things gives Anna the chance to keep those emotions at bay.

"How have you been feelin' lately?" Theo asks her once they've settled facing each other with a new puzzle waiting on the table between them.

"I've been feeling better," Anna admits easily. She knows where they're picking up from. "I think I've had enough time to wrap my head around the fact that Elsa is leaving and that I have nothing to worry about."

"What got you so worried in the first place?" Theo spreads the pieces over the surface of the table and begins picking at them.

"My own insecurities..."

_Seems like you got a ton now dontcha?_

Yes. But at least she knows where they all came from. _How's that for introspection, you jerk?_

_"_ Sugar—" Theo places her hand on top of hers and Anna realizes she has spaced out once again, in the middle of picking up a piece of puzzle. "We all have insecurities," she says, "and if someone tells you they don't you gotta stay away from them cause they're lying."

"I don't think I've met them yet..."

"Which proves my point, dummy. What's got you so insecure?"

The redhead spreads a handful of pieces with both her hands, looks over at the medieval castle pictured on the lid of the box and turns her head back down. The pieces she has all have the same sandy color of the castle.

Anna has no idea where to start.

"I get too attached to the people I care about..."

"Too attached as in you sob every time they leave the room or too attached as in you're scared they'll leave you?"

"God, _definitely_ not the first one."

Theo laughs quietly. "So not the first one. The second one, maybe?" Anna is making a face. She can't really decide if the second one fits but if she must choose... "Okay, let's go for the second one then. Tell me what you feel, darlin'."

Anna looks at the overall picture they've arranged so far. There's the greens meant for trees somewhere amongst the sandy ones of the castle and right next to the baby blue ones meant for the sky. It is an absolute mess but Anna still finds that it is easier to speak if she focuses on them rather than on Theo.

"I don't think I'm very good at balancing my emotions," she says. "it's almost like hot or cold for me, you know? When I care about someone, when I love them, I'd do anything for them. I give all of myself without even thinking about it and then I end up in a place where I'm scared I've either given them too much or not enough, and I fear... I fear that they'll leave because of that. Because I've tired them or because I haven't given enough and I just end up confused as hell in my own mind trying to figure out which one it will be..."

She welcomes the small spark of joy when she sees that she's put together a whole tree.

"What makes you think they'll leave at all?" Theo asks.

"Good question," she says almost bitterly. "Nothing makes me think that, it just happens to be that way in my head."

Anna can feel Theo's big, brown eyes on her. When she says it like that, Anna feels she must be on the verge of mentally deranged. Who would think all that based on nothing but fear?

She quickly pats at the phone in the pocket of her jeans. It hasn't vibrated since she came in.

"Tell me something, darling... How's your relationship with your parents?"

Anna quickly looks up. Her eyes show surprise, as if she's been caught thinking out loud. She wants to ask Theo how she could possibly guess it has anything to do with her parents, but the woman has more than eighty years of life experience and she's also a writer; observing is part of her nature at this point.

She's not guessing, she just _knows._

"It's not that bad," Anna mutters. "It could be better though, I'll admit that. We've just never been close... Since I can remember, it's always been just me, minding my own business, staying out of their way."

Theo clicks her tongue, disappointed. "You've tried to be closer though, haven't you?" Anna nods. "And it hasn't worked so now you've got all these pent up emotions you don't even know where to put."

"I guess, yeah."

The elder gives her two pieces that end up fitting in with the part of the castle Anna is completing. "You know, deary, I think you're being too hard on yourself. And I think you got it wrong with the whole attachment concept. Attached makes you sound like a leech and you ain't a leech. You're not feeding off of your parent's energy and you're not feeding off of Elsa's either. You're feeding off of yours. You're punishing yourself for somethin' that is nowhere near punishable and as a result you're buildin' all these insecurities that are driving you nuts."

"But how am I supposed to stop myself from doing that?"

"Well it ain't a magic wand!" She throws her hands up in an outburst. "You gotta have long and constant check-ins with yourself, darlin'. And if you ask me _,_ you may wanna talk to your parents _and_ to Elsa about it. Maybe blondie first cause talks with parents are always a pain in the ass and you gotta work up the courage for that."

The puzzle is entirely forgotten on Theo's end. Her sole focus is on getting her point across.

"It can even be a letter if you really don't wanna face them. But in whatever shape or form you choose, you gotta work on letting go of this—this _fear_ you're holdin' onto. It's not good for you, my darling. It will only hold you down and with all that passion you have, all that love... a person can only be so lucky of being on the receiving part, you get me?"

Anna does, or at least tries.

"I've sort of talked to Elsa about it," she says lowly. And what a lame reply that is. Her mind is taking its sweet time processing all this, because so much of it rings true and Anna can no longer pretend like it's not a constant nagging presence in her life.

Again, Theo doesn't hold back. "Sugar, you need to have a real talk with her even if you say you've moved past the whole trip thing. And you may tell me everything. Every single moment that's traumatized you since you were a tiny toddler but it won't do you any good if you don't do the same with Elsa. She's the one that's got your heart, not me. Besides, that girl _loves_ you—"

"Wait, how did you—"

"Know?" Theo snorts. "You two are so damn cheesy. Even Margo could see it and she's half blind."

Anna grins, both at the sarcastic comment and at the thought of Elsa. It quickly dissolves, however, when she wonders if perhaps enough time has passed or if Elsa still needs to be alone.

"Talk to her, sugar," Theo repeats softer this time, gently and knowingly pulling Anna out of her reverie. "What I'm tryin' to tell you is that you have to be fully honest with her. Cause you can't just show her all the good sides of you and be satisfied that she loves you that way. Imagine how superficial that would be? If you don't let her see the darker sides then all she's gonna love is the _idea_ of you. The same goes the other way, of course."

Anna is no longer trying to fit any pieces of the puzzle together. She's fingering them about absentmindedly.

"It takes time though, doesn't it?" She asks.

"Hell _yeah_ it takes time. But you two are kids for the Lord's sake... and the love you have right now, that's kiddo love. It's new and dreamy, and all you can probably think of is how good everything is by each other's side. But I'm tellin' ya, it's gotta grow some deep roots. It's gotta morph into something strong enough that it won't break even through the storms... Cause trust me, sugar, there _will_ be storms."

Anna sighs before she looks out the window.

It has stopped drizzling but there is an ominous sky now, full of dark and heavy clouds.

* * *

Anna spends the rest of her time with Theo speaking of easier things, like the date Elsa had prepared for her and their first time saying 'I love you' to each other. The elder laughs and gushes over every little thing Anna recounts with a writer's detail and by the time she has to leave, she feels considerably lighter. Even when Elsa doesn't reply to her text after she lets her know she will be on her way soon, she chooses to remain composed.

Between the blonde's last message and arriving back at Manhattan, a little over three hours must have passed. If Elsa is ready, Anna will be there. If she isn't... well, she has at least tried.

By the time the M train screeches to a halt on 3rd Avenue, the darkened skies have given it, letting the rain pour down on the city. Four blocks are the only thing separating Anna from Elsa at this point, and Anna allows herself no time to think before she steps into the heavy rain.

The water is relentless. It spares nothing and no one while Anna pulls her coat over her head for protection. Her feet stomp on the thin layer of water that covers the concrete, making a splash each time. She watches from under the awning of an electronic shop, waiting for the light to change, as people more prepared than her (must you always forget to check the weather in the morning?) stride away. It is almost comical, the way she has to run a block, halt, look for temporal shelter, repeat. She must look so ridiculous, she thinks, looking like some dude with a barrel covering his upper body, running around like a headless chicken until he hits a pole and topples down. She runs past a man covering himself the same way and finds comfort in their mutual unpreparedness.

She reaches a green light on the last corner before Elsa's apartment building and Anna makes a run for it. Her right foot sinks in cold, murky water and she curses at the heavens, the universe and whatever God may hear her because she was so _goddamn_ close and these were her favorite Converse.

Anna passes by Funky Town bodega, spares a glance but finds no one in sight. She runs over to the entrance of the building, limping, because her shoe keeps squishing every time she steps on it and she can't bare the feeling nor the noise. Thankfully, she's got the code memorized by now and it takes no longer than a few seconds for her to finally leave the pouring rain behind.

It is so much warmer inside the building and Anna has to fight the temptation of taking off her shoe before she rushes up the stairs, cringing at the squishy noise on every second step. She makes a half-assed assessment of her state as she goes. Her jean clad thighs are beginning to itch due to the cold wetness she finds there and Anna makes a mental note to ask Elsa if that has anything to do with circulation because she's always been curious. Her sweater is soaked at the front and her face is no better. Most of the top of her head is wet too and Anna finally realizes that she did a pretty shitty job at covering herself.

But hey, at least the rest of her hair is dry.

She starts shivering upon knocking at the door of apartment 204. There's a muffled sound on the other side of it before it unlocks and Rapunzel swings it open.

At the sight of her, the brunette's eyes widen in surprise. "Jesus, Anna, what the hell happened to you?" She is almost pulling her by the arm, urging her inside, and Anna quickly wonders if she really does look that bad.

"It's pouring outside," she offers as an explanation.

"You're nuts," Rapunzel says as she watches her take her shoes off. "Come on, I need to get you out of these clothes."

Anna is too bewildered to protest at first. The apartment is quiet, too quiet. Only the light in the living room is on. The TV is showing Friends at an inhumanly low level and Elsa's bedroom door is fully shut. Unwelcoming.

"Is Elsa here? Is she okay?"

"Elsa's in her room but she's sleeping right now, I think."

This is the first time she's ever been inside Rapunzel's room. The bed has been made in Anna's own usual style—the covers spread fully over the bed but untucked. Its walls are the same color as Elsa's but unlike the blonde's, her cousin has decorated almost every corner of them with posters, paintings and drawings of her own invention. Anna knew she had joined Elsa in New York to study arts but she had never known how talented she actually was until now. The very little she can see from where she stands by the door, the brunette is good. Her paintings are both impressionistic and realistic, and Anna wishes their current situation were different because she really can't focus or compliment on anything right now.

"Is she okay?" She asks again. Why does she still feel like she's being kept out of this?

Rapunzel pauses in her search for clothes and turns to look at Anna. "She's... well, I don't know. It's like this every year."

Anna frowns, her chest constricts. _Every year..._ It couldn't be, could it?

The brunette's green eyes soften when she comes to the realization: "She didn't tell you, did she?"

She feels numb and so, so stupid. She should have known. She should have guessed this is what made Elsa withdraw like she had never done since Anna has known her. How could she have been so clueless?

"I didn't—I had no idea," she whispers.

"Hey," Rapunzel approaches her. She's carrying a hoodie, sweatpants and bright pink socks in her hands. "Don't take it out on yourself. I'm pretty sure Elsa didn't hide this from you on purpose." She gives Anna the change of clothes and the redhead accepts them reluctantly.

"I can just wait until these dry out."

Rapunzel scoffs. "Are you kidding me? I'm not letting you stay in those clothes. I have half a closet of things I don't even wear and Elsa would _kill_ me if I let you stay like that."

Anna looks down at the bundle of fabric in her arms. She frowns in sorrow. "I should have known..."

"Anna, no... Elsa has told you so much more about her parents than she has told anyone else, ever. But you and I both know that she's not the type of person to jump at the chance to say when the anniversary of their death is."

The guilt of not having known what was wrong with Elsa, of not being able to provide her with some sort of comfort is still very much there, but Anna knows that what she's said is true.

"You're right," she says. "I guess I just wish I could have been there for her. I feel a little stupid because we texted this morning and I still couldn't take a guess."

"Girl. You _are_ here. You went out in the pouring rain just to check in on her even though you had no idea what was wrong... And where is your umbrella anyways?"

Anna rolls her eyes. "It's at home, thanks for asking."

"How did that work out for ya," Rapunzel smiles teasingly.

"As you can see, not very well."

The girl chuckles. "Go change, and shower if you have to, there's some towels under the sink. Then we can wait for Elsa to come out whenever she's ready."

Anna decides not to shower because, frankly, she doesn't want Elsa to come out of her room while she is showering. She changes into a white fleece hoodie with CCNY printed on the front while Anna briefly thinks that this is how college sweatshirts must end up transferring from one person to another; it's always the first thing you offer someone to wear.

There is an urgency translated in her actions, in the way she dries the top of her head with her girlfriend's towel hoping she won't mind or the hot water she soaks her cold feet in, because the faster she's done, the sooner she can be available for Elsa. She won't push, she won't knock at her door. She will wait for as long as is necessary.

She joins Rapunzel on the couch and they talk in low voices while Friends continues playing in the background. Thirty minutes go by, then an hour. Anna keeps up with the conversation although distractedly. She glances every other minute at the closed door, thinking of the girl residing on the other side of it, of what she will do when she sees Elsa.

And finally, the door opens.

Unobtrusively and painfully quiet, Elsa steps out of the room with her sight down on the carpet. Her braid is disheveled, her eyes marred with restless sleep. She freezes upon finding Anna sitting on the couch and her chest puffs out in a deep intake of air. She looks hopelessly broken.

"Hey," Anna says softly.

"Hi."

Anna glances at Rapunzel who gives a faint nod in Elsa's direction. She stands up and slowly walks over to the blonde. As soon as she is close enough to touch her, Anna reaches for the arms that have folded over her stomach. A moment goes by in which Elsa lets Anna take her in from where she stands. She has shut in so completely Anna has to lower her head in order to connect with her blue eyes, but when she finally does, she finds the permission she had been looking for.

She welcomes Elsa into her arms with profound tenderness. The blonde sighs against her neck and Anna hugs her tighter, reassuringly. There's defeat even in the way the girl has wrapped her arms around her waist but Anna keeps her close for as long as Elsa needs it.

They share a silent agreement in which Anna goes to wait in her room while Elsa goes to the bathroom and takes a few extra minutes quietly talking to her cousin in the living room.

When Elsa returns, she closes her door and looks over at the redhead sitting on the edge of her untidy bed.

"Did you take a shower?" She asks. Her voice is small and raspy; from lack of use or too much sleep, Anna doesn't know.

"Of sorts."

"Anna..."

"Sorry." Now is not the time for silly answers, she thinks. "It was raining outside and I forgot my umbrella."

Elsa looks out at the window and Anna follows suit. It is raining lightly now. Like an outburst of anger, the heavy pouring had not lasted long.

The blonde looks back at her, baffled and upset. "Are you _insane_?" Her voice is no longer small. "What makes you think it's okay to walk in the pouring rain without protection?"

"Elsa, it's just water—"

" _Water_? You could have caught hypothermia, Anna! You should have stayed somewhere and waited for the rain to stop."

Anna's eyes switch back and forth. Her frown is set deep and indignant. _Unbelievable._

"Well maybe if you had been alright, I would have! But what makes _you_ think I wouldn't run in the rain knowing you weren't okay!?"

"I _am_ okay."

The redhead scoffs. " _Clearly_."

She notices Elsa's jaw tighten and her blue eyes grow fierce for a flickering moment before it's gone.

"Why are you shutting me out?" Anna asks weakly.

Her girlfriend says nothing as she goes to lean on the wall facing Anna. She is cradling her elbows in her palms, looking everywhere that is not her.

"Elsa?"

"You didn't have to come," she mutters before she closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall. Everything in her stance is preventing Anna from standing up and reaching out to her.

"Why would you even say that? I know I didn't have to. I _wanted_ to."

The blonde lets out a shaky breath. "I'm just not very good at this, okay?"

"At what?"

"I don't... I don't let people in. It's not my thing."

_Since when?!_

"That's a bit... hurtful," she says honestly. Elsa gazes at her. She sees her arms tighten once more around her frame. "I didn't think I was just any people, Elsa."

"You're not."

She is growing exasperated. "Then why did you have to say that?"

Elsa mirrors her tone. "I don't _know_ , okay? As you can see, it is not a good day and I'm not in the mood to argue."

"Who said anything about arguing?!" Why must they keep going back and forth like this? "I don't _want_ to argue. If you didn't want me to come at all you could have just told me, but I had no _clue_ , Elsa. And I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry, because it seems like I haven't been able to give you what you want. You don't have to—to _tell_ me anything. We don't have to talk, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I just hoped that by coming here... that I could be here for you, that you could remember that I'm _always_ here for you, but instead I'm here... and you're just pushing me away like I'm just some _people._ "

"Stop saying that word," Elsa mutters.

"You said it first," Anna rebuts, deflated. Watching Elsa withdraw into herself makes her feel utterly powerless, but she's at a loss for any more words because nothing she says seems to make Elsa leave the wall she keeps leaning against like a lifeline.

Elsa closes her eyes but the action is not enough to hide the pain she is submerged in. "You're not just anyone," she whispers.

Anna stands up tentatively. "Then let me be here for you..."

Blue eyes reveal themselves to her once more. They are shining with unshed tears, screaming with sorrow. Elsa bends her knees as she gives in to the weight of her grief and Anna rushes to kneel in front of her.

"Anna—I... I can't," she gasps weakly.

The redhead cradles her cold hands. "Do you want me to leave?"

Elsa doesn't answer; she stares at her. There is so much pain shining in those deep, blue eyes that her heart clenches inside her chest. How many times, she wonders... just how many times has Elsa gone through this alone?

"No," she whispers.

It is a single tear that breaks her, like an outpouring dam that once began with a crack. Elsa lets go of the grief she has been holding onto in a single cry that makes Anna move to her side and wrap her arms around her fragile frame.

"I'm sorry," Elsa breathes inside the space between her knees and her chest. "I'm so sorry.. _._ I need you, Anna. I can't—it hurts too much."

Anna feels tears prickling at her eyes. "I'm right here, my love," she soothes. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I miss them so much..."

"I know," she whispers. "I know."

In the quiet confines of Elsa's room, Anna holds her. She holds her with her arms safely around her shoulders while she soothes her with soft-spoken words; with the tips of her fingers weaving through her hair; with the kisses she leaves on her forehead. Tears of her own escape her at some point, when her sadness blends with Elsa's; when she feels for the loss of two people she will never meet but who will be a part of her life for as long as Elsa remains in it. She holds her until Elsa's sobs have evanesced into nothing but quiet sighs, and then some more, because the blonde has yet to let go of the tight grip she has on Rapunzel's hoodie.

"I don't know how people do this," she mutters lowly. Anna waits for her to elaborate. "I don't know how to cope like other people do."

"People grief and cope differently," Anna says at the space that surrounds them. "But however you do it, you don't have to do it alone... Remember the thing we said about being there for the lowest of lows?"

Elsa pushes slightly away from Anna in order to see her. Her eyes are red and tired but in them, Anna can still see the cathartic effects of a good cry. "Yeah."

"Well this is our chance." She smiles lovingly at her, running a pinky down her nose. "Let me be here for you."

For the first time since Anna has arrived, a smile graces Elsa's face. It is faint and sad, but it is there nonetheless. "I'm sorry," she says again. "I shouldn't have acted so coldly towards you. You don't deserve it."

"Just tell me how I can help."

She falls back into her arms. "You already are."

"What do you usually do on this day?" Anna asks a few seconds later.

"This," she replies sardonically. "I sleep most of the day. It makes things easier." Elsa's legs stretch out in front of her, breaking their embrace in the process. She takes the time to take a long, exhausted breath before she continues. "You would think that with enough years in between, you would get better at grieving. Or that you would get used to it. I guess not enough years have passed or I'm just really bad at this, because it hurts just the same."

Elsa's admission is both raw and honest, but the thing that gets to Anna the most is that she must be really good at hiding it because she has only ever seen glimpses of this side of the blonde. It makes her realize that there's still a lot they have to learn about each other.

"You're not bad at it, you're just dealing with it at your own pace."

The blonde sighs. A few seconds pass by before she mutters: "I skipped school today."

"I noticed."

"Maybe going to class would have helped me more than hibernating half of the day away."

"Maybe... but it's kinda too late for that now."

Elsa tilts her head to the right, glances at the window, turns back to Anna. "Can we go for a walk?"

It is no longer raining but even if it were, Anna has a feeling she would do it anyway. Hypothermia can suck it.

"We can but you gotta lend me some shoes because mine are ruined until further notice."

Her girlfriend glares at her but spares her another medical lecture about how bad it can be to walk around in wet shoes.

They extend an invitation to Rapunzel but she declines with the excuse that there's no way in hell she'll be getting out of her pajamas today, and they leave the apartment promising to come back with popcorn so that they can all watch a movie together.

The two head east towards the river that separates Manhattan from the rest of the boroughs. Elsa remains pensive for most of the way and Anna is happy to comply with this silence. The streets are almost bare of people, as if they'd been washed away by the rain, and the pathway that delineates the East River is empty as far as Anna's sight can reach.

When they reach the iron railing, Anna watches as her girlfriend looks out at the river, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking?" She asks her after a while.

Elsa lowers her head. She kicks at a pebble that shoots out and falls into the water with a plopping sound too small to be heard.

"What do you think happens after we die?"

Anna frowns. The question is not unexpected but it perplexes her all the same. Despite its inevitability, Anna is one of those people that doesn't spare the concept of death too much thought. Let it be fear or intentional oblivion but she doesn't invest her time on it. It's a rabbit hole she'd rather avoid and one she has yet to get in personal touch with. But if Anna had to really think about it, she knows her opinion would have to fall onto the positive side of the spectrum.

"I would like to think death is... a peaceful sleep, maybe? Like painless, just... infinite, even if we'll never know what infinite really means... One where I can just dream on a loop about awesome things, like sitting outside a coffee shop in Paris with Simone De Beauvoir and discussing existentialism with Sartre while we all share a nice cup of coffee and exquisite _mousse au chocolat._ "

Elsa chuckles. "Or discussing the universe with Sagan on top of the Everest, maybe?"

"Right!" This girl gets her so well. "Or inviting Shakespeare over to my house— _our_ house, eventually— where we will have thousands of puppies running around... two horses, a pig—"

"Wait a _pig_?"

"Yes, Elsa, pay attention. A kitty each on our laps. Unlimited Marta's hot chocolate popping in our glasses and our favorite food set up in one of those big banquet tables. We'll host Writer Tuesdays with Camus, Márquez, Woolf and Austen, and Mystery Thursdays with special guest Agatha Christie."

"And you can't forget Science Fridays with Curie, Pasteur and Freud."

"Yes," Anna drawls, wistfully. She then glances at the blonde, pauses for a second, and hesitantly asks: "What about you?"

Elsa sighs, the smile that once lingered on her face diminishes until it disappears. Like vapor in the air, it's gone.

"I've thought so much about it and I still haven't the slightest idea," she laughs, humorless. "What we think happens is only what we hope happens, isn't it? Like your version of heaven, that's it for you, that's what you think or _wish_ will happen... Sometimes I just think we die and that's it. Total blackness. Whatever that lack of existence means, I don't know. But with my parents being dead..." She breathes in deeply and sighs shakily. "I don't like to think that they're completely gone, you know? I really, _really_ want to believe that—that I'll see them again. In whatever place it may be, in whatever form... It makes me breathe a little easier every morning if I stick to that idea."

"Maybe they can come and join us in our mansion," Anna tells her in an attempt to cheer her up. "They can bring all their pets too."

Elsa giggles a little. _There it is,_ Anna thinks. It makes her smile like a fool.

"My dad will bring horses for sure."

"God, what is it with dads and horses?"

"Your dad likes them too?"

"Yeah... He has a collection of porcelain horses. It's the weirdest thing ever."

"Tell me more about them."

"About the horses?"

Elsa tilts her head. She is looking at her with those inquiring, gorgeous eyes that Anna finds too hard too resist.

They don't always work to her favor, though.

"Why don't you like to talk about your parents?"

Anna wants to deviate as far away from this topic as she can but Theo's voice is ringing loudly in her head: _Talk to her._

"Because it's not a topic I have lots of knowledge on?" She jokes lamely.

"Anna..."

She bites her lip. "I should stop acting like it doesn't bother me, huh?"

Elsa doesn't reply right away. She makes a face that tells her 'You think?'

"Ever since I've known you, you've always dodged the question or you've started talking about something else," she says. It's not an accusation, it is a soft-spoken statement of a harsh truth.

Anna recalls that she had once asked how her parents were, and Anna had said something among the lines of: 'Well my mom's about my height, she's got chestnut colored hair, big inquisitive eyes she likes aiming at her clients and a smirk she always gives when she's about to tear you to shreds—she's a lawyer. Papa is much taller, he's got my hair, a dismissive smile and bright eyes that can probably sell you a $300 toaster without opening his mouth—he's a business consultant.' She had provided Elsa with a profile sheet because it was much easier than saying: 'Well I called my mom yesterday and she said she'd call me back because she was in a meeting and I've yet to hear back from her.' Or... 'Papa texted me the other day and, frankly my darling, I got so excited that I rambled on as per usual but he left me on seen until that night.'

When she comes back to the present, Elsa is still staring at her.

"Sorry."

"I lost you for a bit."

"Yeah..." Where is a puzzle when she needs one? "I don't know, Elsa... They call from time to time but I've never felt like they do it because they miss me, you know? After all these years, I still feel like I need to constantly earn their affection. And a kid shouldn't have to try, right?"

Elsa lightly shakes her head in response. A seagull flies over the river and Anna watches it go.

"I think... they love the idea of me. They sent me to good schools, made sure I had good grades, made sure I ate well and was healthy. But what about the rest? What about asking your daughter if she's made any good friends in high school? What about the nighttime reads, the cuddles, the movies we could have watched?" It's all weighing down on her now, all the memories she could have shared with her parents but didn't. "You know I taught myself how to ride a bike? My dad bought me my first bike but ask me if he taught me how to use it..." Anna remembers the first time she returned to an empty house with her knees scraped, washed them with water and soap, and went back out there. She did it day after day one summer until she no longer returned home with a scratch.

She finds Elsa looking at her with intent; with that inherent expression she always has when she's listening to Anna speak.

Anna continues. She's on a cathartic rush: "I also took up reading because of them. I used to think that maybe they weren't interested in spending time with me because I was this silly kid who liked to climb trees on her spare time. I mean my dad reads the freaking Times every morning and my mom has all these books on law that are just _so_ boring, but I gave it a try anyways and the love kinda grew from there."

"Did they notice you took up reading too?"

"Yeah they did. They bought me tons of books for a while. And we even read together in the same room at some point, but reading is not something you can do much with," she chuckles.

The darkness of the sky is beginning to overpower the grayness of the clouds. They should head back soon, she thinks. But there is something else she feels she must say.

"Since I can remember I've been insecure about the way people show me affection," she tells Elsa. "I crave it, sometimes too much, and I get scared when I think something can have it taken away from me. I guess because it's too precious to me... It's like this—I don't know, brief thing that I can never keep for too long. I grew up with that mentality and I still have to learn how to change it."

"You don't have to learn it alone."

Elsa stands by her side as surely as the placid waters flow through the river. There are certainties like death; like the cycle of the rain. But there are also certainties in the way people say some things, like a confession, like a secret long withheld.

Like the way Elsa tells her she is not alone.

"No... not anymore."

* * *

The next morning Anna wakes up to a sound that is vaguely familiar but one which, in her sleepy haze, she cannot recognize. In any case, it is nagging and it must be stopped.

She pats at the arm that has just recently snaked around her torso.

"Th'alarm," she mumbles.

"S'not mine," Elsa mumbles back.

Her throat makes a sound between a snort and a groan before she turns her body towards the source of the incessant sound.

It is her phone, indeed, but what makes her body jolt is not the ringtone but the cause of it.

Her mother is video calling.

In a panic, her mind struggles to react. Elsa is stirring behind her but Anna won't know until a few minutes later if this has caused her to fully wake up.

The first thing she must do is mute the call. The ringtone drives her nuts. The second thing she does is leave the bed as delicately as possible. She glances at the blonde who is now lying on her back with her forearm covering her eyes. Anna tiptoes—why? She doesn't know. It's carpet—and fumbles with her jeans before she finds the headphones she had forgotten about until last night when she checked to see if they still worked.

She leaves the room stealthily.

The phone has stopped ringing but Anna knows her mother will try once again in a few minutes. She could have left it be, she knows that. She could have missed the call and crawled back into Elsa's arms for another hour or two of peaceful sleep. But, sadly, she can't afford to do that. Not when her mother is _finally_ returning the call.

The phone lights up once more and Anna is ready.

A few seconds later her mirrored image pops on her screen and she thinks _Woah_ ; she forgot to fix her mane.

"Hi, sweetie," her mom says. The phone is propped somewhere by her side, in the same place Anna usually finds her mother when she's not at work: on the computer, at home.

"Hi, mom." She is patting at her hair, trying to lower its volume to a decent human size. Thankfully her mother hasn't taken a proper look yet. She's always told her she must look presentable at all times.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to call back, honey. The meeting was for a new case we have going on and it's a pretty big one."

_Gee, mom, was the meeting pretty big too?_ She wants to ask. "It's okay," she smiles, tight-lipped.

Her mother finally turns to the screen of her cellphone and settles her forearms on the desk, business-like. "How are you?"

"I'm okay... I was just waking up," she lies for no reason. "What about you? What's the case—"

The door to Elsa's room opens and her head turns in a whiplash. She's heard the blonde call out her name but doesn't know if her mother has heard it.

"Who's that, honey?"

She has.

Anna's eyes are still glued to Elsa's, both sets are wide. Elsa is frozen in place even though she is nowhere near the frame of her cellphone's camera. She wants to apologize, Anna can tell, but she shakes her head at the blonde. There is nothing to apologize for.

"Anna?" Her mother repeats. "Why are you shaking your head? Who's that?"

Anna turns to her mother. Her throat has tightened in anticipation and fear is weighing down on her stomach. There is a choice she has to make but no time to think of the outcomes. She chooses on a whim, simply because this is what her heart has told her to choose.

"That's Elsa, mom... She's my girlfriend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger!
> 
> Ps. The book Theo gave Elsa is called Open Heart by Stephen Westaby


	14. Kalanchoe blossfeldiana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys and, must I say, keep the comments coming! They cheer me up a hell of a lot ^.^ Thank you especially for your reception of the last chapter... I hope you enjoy this one. It's a favorite of mine.
> 
> Ps. watch out for the A/N at the end.

"That's Elsa, mom... She's my girlfriend."

A conflict stirs within Elsa the moment she watches Anna hold her breath in anticipation.

Under different circumstances, she would have given her complete privacy without a second thought. She's already done it once before, when Anna received a phone call from her father as they waited in line for coffee and Elsa had encouraged her to go take a seat while she placed the order. But under the circumstances of a non-premeditated confession, Elsa finds herself torn between going back inside her room and staying where she is in case Anna needs any kind of support.

She feels like the indirect cause of the dilemma Anna now has to face on her own, but the truth is that she had been just as disoriented as the redhead's initial response to the sound of the incoming call. If she had known it was Anna's mother she would have never left that bed, let alone called out Anna's name loud enough to be heard.

Because of the headphones, Elsa has a very limited perception of how Anna's mother has reacted but by closely watching her girlfriend's reaction she can see that her expression has gone from apprehension to confusion in the spam of a few seconds.

"Uh, right," she hears Anna say. "Thanks?" The redhead opens her mouth to say something else but it closes with a clank. Her mother is probably adding something to her initial response, she thinks.

She isn't. Or at least, it has nothing to do with what Anna has just confessed. By now, the girl is struggling to dissimulate her bewilderment even through her little attentive hums, but her mother doesn't seem to catch it. There's lots of listening on Anna's side and lots of talking on her mother's, as if they'd moved on to other, less trivial matters and the case had been dismissed.

As though all she said in response was _That's nice, honey. Now could you pass me the salt, please?_

"Oh," Anna then says. "That's great, mom. When are you guys flying in?"

Although confused and slightly worried by the turn of events, Elsa decides to give Anna some privacy for the rest of her call. The coast is clear, her father would say sometimes. Whether that applies to the current situation she doesn't know, but it sounds fitting.

She spends the next few minutes meticulously making the bed. Anna's voice is too low to be audible, which encourages Elsa to drop any act of eavesdropping she may have briefly considered. As she clears the bed of comforters and pillows, she thinks back to what Anna had told her the day before about her childhood and her constant need for an affection she never felt was entirely corresponded. She thinks of how Anna, despite everything, turned out to be so unapologetic about her love for others. It drives Elsa to think that how you shape yourself in the end is not only a response to life's circumstances, but also to how you choose to react. Anna could have turned out to be bitter and resentful but instead she turned out to be caring and deeply understanding. A little ray of sunshine in most people's lives... Certainly the whole Sun in Elsa's case.

Her girlfriend pads back into her room just as she's finishing puffing up the pillows.

"Hey," Anna says softly.

Elsa straightens up, turns to her and closes the distance between them in a few short strides. "I'm sorry, Anna," she says when her arms encircle the shorter girl's waist. "I didn't know you were on the phone, I would have never called out to you—"

"It's okay." Anna leans back from their embrace but leaves her arms planted on her shoulders. "It had to happen eventually." The smile on her face is sad and resigned. It ignites something akin to protectiveness inside of Elsa.

"What did she say?"

Anna frowns again. "It was so weird," she mutters. "At first I thought, maybe she thinks you're a girl _friend_ , but I think she did get it because she was just like Oh, and then she said That's nice, honey ( _could you pass me the salt?_ ) that's it. Nice _._ What the—who the hell _says_ that? It's like I told her the weather's gotten better lately."

If Elsa is baffled she cannot imagine how Anna must feel. "Do you think she's in denial?"

"I don't know?" She goes to sit, defeated, on the neatly made bed. "I don't even know if she's going to tell my dad or if I will have to when I see him."

Elsa follows her suit. "Maybe she will." Unfortunately, she doubts it. "When are they arriving?"

"They'll be here a day before my graduation and they'll stay for three more days after that." She throws herself back with a groan. "Just what I needed!"

Lying by her side, Elsa props her head on her hand. She is consciously following Anna's moves. At this rate, they'll end up under the covers again. "Do you think your dad will react the same way?"

"I wouldn't even consider that a reaction," she laughs. A rueful sound with no joy in it. "I feel like I'm gonna have to do it all over again." Anna then looks straight at her, and in her eyes Elsa finds nothing but honesty. "I'm scared," she whispers.

Elsa raises her hand in order to sweep the disheveled bangs away from her forehead. Anna's copper hair is in an absolute, glorious mess but there isn't a laugh building in the back of Elsa's throat. Not this time.

"You know I'll be there for you, sweetheart. All of us will be there."

Anna shuts her eyes. A few seconds go by before she lets out a sigh through her nose.

"That doesn't help, does it?" Elsa asks in a whisper.

Bright eyes reveal themselves to her. "No, it does... I'm sorry." She weaves her fingers through Elsa's hair and the blonde closes her eyes at the sensation. "It's just that everything is so frustrating, I don't even know what to say. My mom's reaction made no sense, I'm gonna have to repeat this mortifying moment in person and who knows what will come out of it. What if they flip? Or what if they turn their backs on me?"

Anna's eyes are beginning to reflect the morning light of the room. They've become crystalline, on the verge of tears. "I don't think I would be able to handle that."

The blonde leans down to place a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Something tells me they won't."

"You think so?"

"I do. I think that if your mom were to be so strongly against it, she would have reacted very differently already."

Anna tilts her body towards Elsa's chest, seeking a comfort her girlfriend is ready to give. "I really hope so," she mumbles against the soft flannel of her snowman PJs.

Elsa does, too. She hopes—and thinks—that Anna's parents are not the narrow-minded, judgmental kind. She thinks that regardless of her parent's lack of attention and a poor show of parental affection, their actions were never intentional and thus, they cannot be mean people. She thinks—and really hopes—that when Anna does have the opportunity to tell them, that they will show at least a grain of understanding. That they might encounter denial at first but, in the end, will be incapable of hurting Anna and of willfully, knowingly turning their backs on her. That when they get to meet Elsa, they will see how much she cares about her daughter and perhaps then, accept who Anna is.

What a twisted irony it will be, to end up getting everything right except for the one thing she never considered.

Anna pulls herself out of the embrace and Elsa out of her thoughts. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Are you sure?"

The redhead nods, resolved. "I don't think there's a lot to talk about. It's all gonna go down at my graduation and that's already what, in less than two months?"

"Something like that."

"Right."

"Are you going to be able to put it off until they come?"

"I'd rather try that than do it again over the phone, honestly."

Elsa mulls over her next words. She feels the need to suggest it, if anything because she wants Anna to know she mustn't feel obliged. "If you think it's best that I don't go to your graduation, I'd understand, you know? I don't want to make things worse between you guys. We can always celebrate after they leave."

Anna stares at her. She blinks twice, perplexed that Elsa would even suggest it. "The only thing worse than having to go through this again is having to go through this without you. I need you there. I would never uninvite you just to avoid trouble."

She fights back a grin. "I'm not sure uninvite is a word, sweetheart."

"It is now."

"If you insist." She rearranges the disheveled bangs again while her fingertips graze Anna's forehead. There is no point in doing it, really, because Anna's hair has a mind of its own. Elsa just likes touching her.

"How are you feeling?" Anna asks.

She does a bit of jolly introspection in order to give her an honest answer. Yesterday had been overwhelming, but having spent half of it in the company of two people she deeply loves rather than alone had left her feeling the morning after without an emptiness she had grown accustomed to in previous years. Refreshed isn't quite the right word but calm is fairly close. Elsa had gone to sleep safe in Anna's arms.

"I'm feeling better," she tells her. "Their anniversary is just a bit too hard for me to handle still."

"That's perfectly understandable." She chases after the palm that's remained by her cheek and kisses it. "Whether it's the third one or the twentieth one, I would never expect you to act perfectly dandy."

Elsa smiles softly. "Thank you."

Anna pulls her down for a chaste kiss that inevitably deepens, until everything leaves her mind except for the sensation of the girl's soft lips against her own.

When they pull away, the redhead pouts. "I have to go to class."

"Must you?" She asks in an impulse.

Anna's smile grows mischievous.

"I don't think Mr. Hayes would miss me too much," she ponders out loud, feigning seriousness. As if she hadn't made up her mind the moment Elsa opened her mouth.

"You shouldn't skip class." That's an empty reprimand and they both know it.

"You literally suggested it."

"Not literally. I only asked a question."

"If that helps you sleep better at night..."

They stare at each other.

"...I'm skipping class, Elsa"

"Must you?"

Anna throws her head back for the first hearty laugh of the day. "You're insufferable."

Elsa grins. "Okay, fine. You can skip. I know something that'll keep your mind occupied better than Mr. Hayes's class, anyways"

The redhead wiggles her eyebrows, and Elsa thinks that if Anna had not charmed her way into her heart with her personality, that alone would have done it. The action is unbearably cute.

Regardless, those eyebrows are suggesting something far different from what Elsa has in mind.

"I think it's time we plant those seeds you gave me."

Anna's expression blooms with excitement. The blonde barely has the time to prevent a mutual concussion before Anna jumps out of the bed so fast Elsa fears for her blood pressure.

"Wooh. Dizzy."

Elsa chuckles, shaking her head. "You're a lost case, my love."

* * *

Thanks to the wondrous world that is the Net, it takes the girls nothing but a few seconds to find out there is a hardware and garden store blocks away from Elsa's apartment. Three blocks to be exact. Three that become ten blocks and forty extra minutes because Anna must stop by the bodega to say hi to Marta before they must take a detour to buy coffee, because a morning without coffee is not a morning well-invested and "Do you really want to live with that decision, Elsa?"

Elsa does not. So she lets Anna buy her a cappuccino which she continues sipping even as they surf the crammed hallways of this family-owned store.

They could have come in, gone straight for the flower pot and the potting mix, paid for the items and left. But practicality is a matter that passes over Anna's head, and Elsa has slowly learned that there's nothing wrong with a little bit of discovery even in the most inconsequential of places.

"Imagine having a garden one day," she tells Elsa as she picks up a pound worth of fast grow grass seed, looks at the label, then puts it back on the rack.

"I would love to have a garden, actually."

"Really?" Anna's eyes widen with the same ease of a kid. "Maybe we can build our own garden," she says before she continues with her exploration.

Elsa smiles to herself. Every time Anna provides her with little glances of a future together she feels warm all over her body.

"Oh! I found it."

Elsa approaches her and glances at the bag she's holding. "That's for a veggie garden, Anna."

She puts it back. "I knew that."

"What about this one? It says for cactus and succulents. Ours is a succulent, right?"

"Yeah, take that one." She's already distracted by the pesticides.

Elsa continues sipping her lukewarm cappuccino as she follows Anna with the same blind trust of a Chinese pack and its umbrella tour guide. If it weren't because this store is nowhere near the size of a Costco, they would have probably gotten lost twice already. From where she stands, Elsa can see the sign that says 'Pots & Accessories' but she lets her girlfriend get to it on her own.

When she does, she turns to Elsa. "You have to choose."

The blonde is genuinely surprised. "Why me? I thought we were choosing together."

"Well yeah, but the pot will be in your room, you have to choose what you want to look at every day as soon as you wake up."

"That sounds like you got it out of a bumper sticker."

Anna rolls her eyes. "It does not. Now choose, woman, or you won't be getting any more kisses for the rest of the day, let alone anything else."

Elsa quickly grabs a plastic pot the color of terra cotta. A classic, she thinks in a flash.

They pay for the items at the register, where a distracted Indian man is carrying a conversation over the phone with the speaker turned on. There is a woman at the other end of the line. She sounds pissed.

On their way back to the apartment, Anna stops by a newspaper box that says Daily Free on its front and pulls out the last remaining issue. "To put on the floor," she tells Elsa when she looks at her with curiosity. "I don't wanna be the one cleaning potting soil off of your carpet."

It ends up being not the carpet, but the floor of the kitchen when Elsa takes a knife and opens the bag with so much force that nearly half of it is spilled.

Anna laughs through her attempt at helping her get as much soil off the floor as possible. Elsa tries to act annoyed, but with everything that's happened in the last 24 hours, Anna's laughter does nothing but reinstate that feeling of joy she inevitably feels around this girl.

Once they've put down the bag of soil, a glass of water and the pot, they settle themselves in the middle of Elsa's newspaper-covered floor.

"So I searched online," Anna says. "We have to put the soil and water it first. Then we leave it be so that the water can settle and the soil becomes moist, and then we put in the seeds."

"How long do we have to leave it be for?"

"Don't know. Ten minutes?"

"Your research skills are astonishing."

"You know what's astonishing? Your sarcasm. Keep it up, see if I kiss you again today."

Elsa crawls on her hands and knees across the newspapers before she drops a sloppy kiss on Anna's cheek that the redhead fights halfheartedly. "You couldn't resist me for too long," she teases.

"Don't try me." There's a fiery reaction simmering beneath her teal eyes that Elsa is tempted to provoke but doesn't. Instead, she assuages it with a pacifying kiss on the lips.

"Truce?"

Anna pecks her—"Truce"—and moves on. She is too excited to hold on to any kind of grudge at the moment.

She keeps the pot straight while Anna pours down the soil, gently patting it around so that it doesn't turn into a mound of dirt. Anna's brow is knit tight in concentration and Elsa fights the urge to run her soil-covered thumb across it.

"You know, I will fight for full custody of this child when you leave for London," Anna says as she watches her pour just enough water on the soil to moisten it.

"You don't have to fight for it if I just give it to you, Anna."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Elsa laughs, altering her concentration. "You're so dramatic. What do you want? A broadcasted case with Judge Judy?"

"I wouldn't rule that option out."

"Right, we'll see what happens when she finds out we've been talking about a plant and not a child."

Anna sticks her tongue out.

She tells Anna to go get the packet of seeds out of the drawer of her nightstand instead of just poking her tongue out at people. Her drawer of tokens, she calls it in the privacy of her own mind.

"Where's it at? In the box?"

Elsa nods.

"That's my drawer of tokens," she comments when Anna pauses at the sight of the objects inside. It makes her want to laugh a little. The way Anna has infiltrated herself so much into her life that the thoughts she's kept in her mind for so long are now coming out as easily as the words that leave her mouth.

"Can I?" Anna asks.

Elsa nods again as she makes her way over to sit next to the redhead on the bed, getting rid of as much dirt as she can on top of the newspaper before she does. There's a bit of anxiety lurking somewhere in the back of her mind now that Anna has the intention of exploring the small wooden box. She could stop her, she knows that. But she really doesn't want to.

The first object she takes out is a stuffed puffin her mother helped her make when she was five years old, out of wool and a single blue glove for his cape—because he _had_ to have a cape, she'd insisted—like any hero would.

"That's Sir Jörgenbjörgen."

"Jorgen-who?"

"Jörgen-björgen," she smiles amusedly. "He was my first real friend."

Anna grabs the tiny arm between her thumb and her index finger before she shakes it gently. "Nice meeting you, little one." Then she hands it over to Elsa with utmost care and says: "How come he's hidden in your drawer?"

She cradles the puffin in her hands. The weight is familiar, and the memories it carries even more.

"I'm twenty-four, Anna. I'm a little too old for stuffed animals on my bed."

"I beg to differ. Who's here to judge anyway?"

"You?" She replies lamely.

"Really? That's all you got?"

Elsa chuckles. "Fine." She places Sir Jörgenbjörgen on the crevice formed between the pillows and does what she did so many times before when she was a kid: she tucks him in.

She discovers Anna watching her with a soft smile, blushes, but says nothing. Neither does Anna. She continues rummaging.

There is a silver necklace with a single snowflake that used to belong to her mother. She had always told her daughter that there was a solemn beauty in snow, and that Elsa reminded her of it. It is a necklace she never wears for fear of losing it, but one she tends to hold in her hand from time to time. There's also her father's favorite handkerchief, a royal blue with its edges the color of carmine, and their wedding rings safely placed inside a jewelry box she found at home before moving out of it.

Anna goes over every object with much delicacy and sober contemplation. She is brief with each, but Elsa can tell she is taking their significance to heart. She then takes out of the box the pink book she gave Elsa the second time they met.

From inside falls an item Elsa knows too well.

It is one of her favorites. A Kodak picture of the three of them sprawled over a couch, with her dad on one corner, laughing as he watches Elsa being mercilessly tickled by her mother. Elsa was six when this picture took place, and she knows the exact date because her mother had the habit of writing it behind every picture she had developed back when disposable cameras were a thing.

Anna looks at the picture with vehement attention and Elsa realizes this is the first time she sees what they look like. "Your mom looks a lot like you," she raises her teal blue eyes at her, as if to reassure herself, then looks back down. The tip of her index grazes the glossy surface of the photo. It passes over her mom, herself and then her dad, and Elsa doesn't question the action. She can see what she's doing. She is getting acquainted.

Afterwards, she places the photo ceremoniously inside the box before her attention turns to the pink Neruda book. "I'm glad to see this was worthy enough to become one of your tokens," she says. Her tone is half-teasing, half-serious.

Elsa drops a kiss on the redhead's shoulder just as she moves her head to take a closer look at the poems Anna is leafing through. That floral scent of hers hits Elsa just right. It makes her linger.

"Excluding the orange Skittles, that is the first thing you ever gave me. It should be commemorated as such."

Anna chuckles. "Do you have a favorite?"

"Besides the one you dedicated to me, you mean?"

Anna pokes her ribs and she ducks away with a giggle.

"There's one I really like but it makes me a little sad too."

"Which one?"

Elsa extends her hand and Anna gives her the book. She skips through the pages. Some are dogeared, in others she has underlined the lines she's enjoyed the most. The poem she's referring to starts somewhere in the middle, right after its Spanish counterpart.

"Can you read some of it to me?"

Elsa looks at her. Her expression is serious, deep with curiosity and love. A bottomless love, Elsa thinks with affection.

She then thinks that she has never read a poem out loud before. Maybe in high school, but if you can't remember it, the experience doesn't count. Must she take up a different voice? A _sotto_ _voce_ , perhaps? Or maybe a charming murmur meant to seduce?

"Well... I liked the beginning," she begins to say instead. It's her introduction, that's all. She's getting warmed up. "Here, where he writes: Everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists... aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me..."

Anna tilts her head as she continues looking at her. "Why did it make you a little sad?"

Elsa doesn't give an answer in her own words. She reads it out loud.

"If little by little you stop loving me," she recites, "I shall stop loving you little by little... If suddenly you forget me, do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you."

She doesn't pause to look at Anna, she moves on to her favorite part. The reunion. The part where she's reminded that not all heartbreaks end without hope. That a happy ending _is_ possible.

Her voice gains momentum because, somehow, they feel like a promise of her own.

"But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness... If each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten. My love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine."

They regard each other silently for a few seconds before Anna speaks out.

"I really like your voice," she says lowly. "Have I ever told you that?"

Elsa tucks an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't think so."

Anna pecks her once, then kisses her deeply. Their lips savour each other for a while in an unhurried act of love.

When they separate for air, Elsa points out: "You didn't go through all the items in the box." Then she takes out the brown pocket notebook holding the first story she ever gave her.

The first, and not the last story Anna will ever dedicate to her.

The redhead gasps softly, welcomes the notebook into her hands and looks around the room for something to write with. She stands up to grab a pen from the blonde's desk—"I think it's time to plant the seeds, by the way"—and adds a sweet afterthought to her brief dedication note:

_I love you._

* * *

Three weeks fly away rather busily for the girls. In the relative wonders of time, Elsa has experienced them in a flash. Her classes have become increasingly demanding in both practice and theory as they prepare students for the clinical rotations happening on the fourth and last year of med school. As a result, she has had to opt out of her brief although leisure lunches and substituted them for quick bites of sugars and fats at the cafeteria. Not that she'll complain any time soon, though. The doughnuts are to die for and the coffee is good enough to meet the low standards of any college student. But what started as a little indulgence has quickly become a habit. The problem is, the options at the cafeteria are surprisingly limited. Columbia may be one of the finest universities in the state of New York but frankly, their salads are shit, and even Elsa will much rather pick up a bakery good than the packed romaine they serve with two cherry tomatoes and the same packet of Caesar dressing she once saw at McDonald's.

High on caffeine and sugar, she's spent most of these three weeks writing down notes until her hand cramps up. She reads, goes to class, then reads some more. She's also approaching the end result of her group's research training which, despite initial reluctance, has turned out to be quite alright. The moment Elsa realized it was full of studious introverts, she fit right in.

However, the greatest downfall of this demanding schedule is the time she's got left to spend with Anna. Outside of weekends that go by in the blink of an eye, their time has been reduced to late afternoons, nights and early mornings. Anna has been just as busy working, cramming in the last of her assignments, writing, turning in essays—all those shenanigans, as her girlfriend would say—, to the point where it's become an automated routine: wake up, with Anna most likely by her side, have breakfast, share a shower every other morning (which turned out to be a tad unrealistic because once you come down the heights of shower sex it's mostly _Can I go under the water now? I'm getting cold,_ or Anna's favorite _Elsa, your boobs are too_ _distracting_ ). Then it's the parting of ways, jump into the endless pit of duties and responsibilities, meet again, and tiredly fall into each other's arms.

The exhaustion may be attributed to the workload they each face, but Elsa knows that it must also be attributed to the late nights they have spent opening up more and more about their pasts. She has caught her girlfriend nipping at her lower lip more often than she ever had before but she's chosen to give Anna the chance to open up whenever she's ready. That is, late at night. They talk about their parents, the good and the bad; about their life-long fears; about their hopes for the near future. These are nights spent in hushed tones and murmured confessions; in giggles and teary smiles; in kisses, embraces and soft moans. They're nights that give Elsa tremendous bliss and a minor case of sleep deprivation.

All of this is what Elsa keeps thinking about as she stands inside the train that will take her to Columbia. The sound of its wheels screeching against the metallic rail is rhythmic, its movement soothing.

Elsa also wonders, as she gets off the train, why the Research Administration Office has to be on the Morningside campus and not right at Irving. It makes no sense to have to attend one class, take the southbound 1 to a meeting that will probably take half of her commute's time, jump back on the train bound to the Bronx, and get through two more classes.

Doctor Susan Park's office is on the third floor of the Administration building. All the way to the end of the hallway, right next to the ceiling-to-floor window that faces the courtyard of Morningside's campus.

She checks her phone before knocking, sees that she is ten minutes early and decides to wait a few more minutes outside. Five minutes early is fashionable. Ten, not so much. She also finds that she has a new text from her girlfriend. The words _Good luck, sunshine!_ are attached to a photo taken by Anna. The redhead is giving her a thumbs-up and so is Kristoff, who is sitting in the background with his customary boyish grin.

Elsa replies back to her with a grin before she spends the remaining minutes looking out at the courtyard. The Spring sun is finally shining in all its glory, and Elsa suspects that may have something to do with the way students are striding across the lawn without the rushed perkiness of a cold weather. For some reason, this brings a smile to her face.

The door opens behind her and out comes a woman that could pass as having the same age as Elsa if it weren't for the heaps of credentials Elsa found on her profile online. She is shorter than her by an inch or so—the same height as Anna, most likely—, her black hair falls straight down without impediment and when she smiles her eyes close almost to a slit.

"Miss Anderssen?"

"Hi, yes—" she extends her hand for a shake. The woman's hand is warm and pleasant. Just right for a doctor, she thinks.

"I saw someone pass by a few minutes ago and I expected a knock, but none came."

"Sorry," she laughs, a little embarrassed. "I just felt like I got here too early. I wanted to wait a little before knocking... It's nice meeting you, Doctor Park."

"You may call me professor if you'd like," she smiles, leading her inside. "This isn't a clinical setting, no need to overdo formalities."

Elsa registers the office in a few, quick glances while the woman makes her way around her minimalist mahogany desk and sits on a black leather La-Z-Boy. Except for the three photo frames facing away from Elsa and the numerous diplomas hanging on the wall to her right, the office is highly impersonal. It could be anyone's.

"I must apologize for such a delay in the schedule. Between the usual work and balancing the projects for the next semester, these months are always packed for us."

"I understand," Elsa says amicably. She sits on the chair that is offered by Park's hand. "I wanted to thank you for the spot you've offered me. I know this is not a common cordiality so to be even considered, it's an honor." She hears Theo in her mind telling her: Don't thank _them,_ sugar, thank yourself!

An inward smile.

"No need to thank us, Miss Anderssen," the professor affirms. "You're reaping the fruits of your own effort, that's all. Now, I feel like I should give you the basics first before we dive into the actual interview. This is a research project that will mostly take place in London's Institute of Cardiovascular Science. It is five months long, from August to December. I'm not sure yet about the size of the group, but they tend to be small—about fifteen people max. I'll be the one supervising your group but we'll also have an administration representative in case of any mishaps during our time abroad."

"As I'm sure you're aware by now, these programs are highly competitive due to the immersive experience they offer. They consist mostly of clinical rotations, as well as both practicum and research work. The process, each semester, consists of a list of suggested candidates. After that, it's a meticulous process based not only on the general grades, but on your written assignments, your participation, your extra-curriculum activities; all of that which you as students don't think we notice but do," she jokes lightly.

Elsa gives her a polite smile.

"As for yourself, Miss Anderssen, I must say that what caught my attention the most was your essay on improving the quality of life for terminally ill patients." She leans in, her elbows propped on the desk. "In all of my years of experience, I have rarely encountered students with this much sense of humanity so early on... And so I wondered, why is that, Miss Anderssen?"

Elsa tries to recall the details of the essay professor Park is referring to. It was written on her fourth semester, although its guidelines remain a memory now blurred out. She does recall, however, what drove her to write it. She had been challenged by Theo during one of her visits, when they were just getting to know each other and Elsa was easily thrown off by her no-nonsense remarks. She had explained to her what she was learning at school that semester and Theo had remained unmoved. _It's good that they teach you how to save lives, sugar,_ she'd told her, _but do they teach you how to tend to their demise?_ Elsa had been thrown in a spiral. No they had not, she'd admitted, and that had felt like a slap of reality right on the face. Even on her sixth semester of med school, they had yet to teach her much about mortality when medicine can no longer resist fate.

She had gone home that night and researched everything she could about the way terminally ill patients carried out the rest of their lives, and a few weeks later, she had found a real reason to delve into it.

"Have you ever encountered a patient that's asked you to withdraw treatment, professor?"

The woman arches her shapely eyebrow. This has clearly thrown her off, and Elsa begins to question her choice of words just as she answers: "I have, yes. It's more common than you may think, Miss Anderssen."

"Right... And you were hesitant to comply, I'm guessing?"

She knows her questions are being aimed at the doctor sitting in front of her rather than at her own essay, but she's trying to prove something here.

If only the woman weren't looking at her like she's treading on fine ice.

"What exactly is your point? Of course I was hesitant. We're talking about ending a treatment that will result in death."

"Yes, you're right," Elsa states. "But that's just my point. Or part of the point on my essay anyways. Traditionally speaking, medicine is all about extending life. To the point where it's almost inhumane sometimes." She really hopes she's not poking at a sensitive topic here, but the professor has asked. Elsa is simply answering. "We're all mortal, professor. I might sound like a hypocrite because of course, my priority will always be saving someone's life. But what if extending it is no longer the right choice? What if, instead of prolonging the pain with treatments and medicine that are sometimes _too much,_ we work with what we have?"

"You're talking about palliative care."

"In a way, yes," she doesn't tell her that she had only found out about palliative care after having written her essay. "But palliative care is considered a program and you have to fit into certain criteria to be eligible... I'm just talking about simple, humane care. By doctors, by the patient's family, by medical institutions. It is so easy for us to assign treatments or suggest experimental drugs, but I personally think we can do better when it comes to dealing with a patient's mortality."

Park nods her head a few times. The action is small enough to be missed but Elsa can see it; she is impressed. "Is that why you chose medicine?"

"Yes," she lies. "Partly." No need to get too personal.

"Well, I must say I agree with you. Terminal illness is a bit of a touchy subject for doctors but it's necessary talk, nonetheless." She leans back on her La-Z-Boy and gives her a less formal smile this time. "I'm sure we'll get to converse more about it during our trip."

Satisfaction fills Elsa's chest. "That would be great," she says sincerely.

A light knock interrupts whatever the professor was about to say. "Come in," she directs at whoever is on the other side of the door.

Tracy's insufferable face peeks in. She glances at Elsa first, then at Susan. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Only if what you have to tell me is not important," Susan tells her. Elsa doesn't miss the light sarcastic tone in her voice.

"It always is, doc," Tracy jokes. She walks inside the room with a smirk while Elsa fights the urge to roll her eyes. She is annoyed already.

The brunette is wearing a burgundy, long-sleeved blouse and pitch black jeans; the most formal Elsa's ever seen her. She nods cordially and greets her, "Hello, Elsa."

"Tracy," she replies dryly.

"You two know each other already?" Susan asks unassumingly. She takes the file folder Tracy has extended over to her distractedly because she is looking at Elsa, waiting for an answer.

The brunette beats her to it. "We do."

Elsa bites the inside of her cheek. _Unfortunately,_ she wishes she could say. Why must this girl's presence take such a toll on her?

"Well, I'm glad you two have gotten acquainted already."

She fights the urge to demand why, exactly, this is something to be glad about but the answer comes without a pause, and Elsa wishes she'd rather be slapped.

"Tracy will be joining us as part of the administration for any in-field support."

Surely she must have heard wrong.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll be tagging along," Tracy answers for the woman. Her face is smug, and her tone... she can hear Tracy calling her Ice Queen in her mind. It unnerves her to the core.

Up until now, Elsa has wondered what it is about this girl that aggravates her so much. After all, she has deeply disliked people before. Like that bully of a girl Rapunzel had to deal with during one summer camp until Elsa cornered her and threatened to shave her shiny bald on her sleep. Or that science partner in high school who neglected to do his part of the job and later on tried to take full credit for it. Yet, there is something about Tracy that shines a red light in her mind and just now she's beginning to see it. It is not just her overbearing tone of voice, or her barely concealed attraction towards Elsa. It is that Tracy acts as though she is playing a game she's meant to win. She always has, since their very first interaction, but somehow it's gotten worse and Elsa can now understand why.

She has let her. She's let her get a grip on her emotions since the moment she chose to aim her arrogance at Anna.

But now... with realization comes resolution, and Elsa will no longer grant her that satisfaction.

* * *

Later that day, Elsa waits for Anna outside of Duane Reade, right underneath the Metronome—that puzzling installment no one in New York seems to know the meaning of.

"Elsa!"

There is that grinning, freckled little creature Elsa calls her girlfriend approaching with the velocity of a child high on sugar, which makes Elsa ready her legs for impending collision and extend her arms just in time for Anna to fall into them.

"Oh my God," Anna rushes out. "I've been dying to tell you, I _finally_ met Kristoff's girlfriend today. She is the quirkiest... person... _ever_. I swear I don't know where Kristoff meets these girls but anyways, I'll tell you everything after you tell me how your interview was because I've been thinking about it all day and you telling me that it went well on your text didn't help at all... What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You're upset."

Elsa glances sideways. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you've almost got a unibrow with how much you're frowning." She reaches for her hand. "What's wrong?"

The blonde touches the spot between her eyebrows but of course, the frown is gone. It's one of those things your brain will stop doing once somebody else points it out, like a nervous tick, or like staring into space.

"Elsa?" She ducks her head down to connect her gaze with the blonde's. "Are you okay? Did something happen at the interview?"

More like someone, she thinks. The interview had not lasted long after Tracy left with that characteristic smirk aimed at her. She doesn't even remember if she returned the goodbye gesture but even if she didn't, she doesn't care. Tracy left Elsa with just enough energy to focus on the rest of the questions professor Park threw her way and despite knowing that she'd nailed it, she walked out of that office with a dreadful aftertaste.

She doesn't reply right away. First, she must lead Anna towards Union Square and away from the middle of the sidewalk. The last thing she needs is for an angry stranger to start yelling at them to get out of the damn way.

"Tracy is coming to London with us," she finally tells her.

A pause. Long enough that Elsa has to take her eyes away from the concrete beneath them to look at Anna.

"Are you kidding me?" The redhead asks.

Elsa shakes her head bitterly.

"But she's not even a student," she remarks. Her frown is set deep, in a way similar to what Elsa must have looked like a few minutes earlier.

Dusk is beginning to drain the blue out of the Spring sky but the buzzing life of the park remains undeterred. A bit overwhelming for the time being in Elsa's opinion.

They continue making their way through the walking path and away from the bustle of the street.

"Apparently, she'll come on behalf of the administration."

"Bullshit."

The word throws her off and Anna catches it. "I'm sorry, but it's true. I mean not really. I'm sure it's just a coincidence but... I really don't like her, Elsa. And I know you don't like her either—you probably hate her, actually, cause you always get this look..." She trails off. A somber expression passes through her face but is gone as quickly as it came.

"What look?"

"I don't know, this look. It's very cold and kinda angry at the same time."

Elsa rubs her face as if said expression were on it right now, but really it's because she's tired. It's been a long day. "I just don't like her attitude. She acts as though she were playing a game with me. As if she knew something that I didn't."

Anna sighs wearily. She rests her head on Elsa's shoulder while her free hand goes to squeeze her bicep. "Just don't let her get to you."

"I won't," she says, with no premonition that she will be wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I hope you may pardon the inconclusiveness of this chapter. You probably expected a resolution on this but there are two reasons why I didn't provide it: One, this was on Elsa's POV and two, what's better than conflict through a video call if not conflict in person? :D
> 
> Ps. I have a question for you all. On this line: "I'm sorry, but it's true. I mean not really. I'm sure it's just a coincidence but... I really don't like her, Elsa. And I know you don't like her either—you probably hate her, actually, cause you always get this look..." She trails off. A somber expression passes through her face but is gone as quickly as it came. --- 
> 
> What do you guys think is the reason she's trailed off? There was a very specific thought in Anna's head during this moment, and I'm very curious to see if any of you may have caught it? Any comments and opinions are of course welcome!


	15. When I was young I thought the world of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the delay of this chapter. I needed to be in the right state of mind for it but getting to it was hard because depression is a bitch sometimes. Anyhow... I hope you guys enjoy it. I put a lot of thought into it and it's by far the longest one I've written.

The date: 7th of May. Two weeks before graduation.

The place: South of Houston Street. The hood where cobblestone streets are the norm and high-end independent boutiques set the criteria.The backdrop of fashionable crowds and out-of-towners that rain a few thousands on a single shop. The epitome of stylish, where both men and women stroll the main streets with designer bags that have either been purchased at their own designated emporium, or at the backroom of a dumpling-smelling shop in Chinatown.

At the heart of this cluster of blocks, right on the corner of Broadway and Prince Street, a woman wearing a silken hijab smacks her kid on the head with an oversized Banana Republic shopping bag when she turns around to hail a cab. She appears indignant for a second, thinking somebody must be invading her personal space and, most importantly, _touching_ her belongings. She is relieved to see it's just her son before she cradles his head and pulls him closer to her skirt-clad legs.

Inside the store in front of which she stands, a redhead, a blonde and a brunette scan several racks of dresses. Some are floral, for Spring ( _groundbreaking_ ) _._ Quite a few have risky palettes and even riskier cleavages. Some are knee-length, others are worthy of a night at the Globes. Anna skims through them absentmindedly, glancing at most of them only once and taking a second look at a few. She's looking for sophisticated yet jaw-dropping, like the blonde chick standing next to her wearing a button-up blouse tucked inside tight black jeans. Distracting. Awfully distracting. Then Oh là là, she thinks, there's this one and it is _extra mignonne_. It is soft to the touch, and the light coral fabric falls easily from her fingers as she runs them down the dress. Does she have heels to match, though? She might need heels for this... what colors would go well? And how much is it anyway—

" _FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS?_ "

Elsa stares alarmed at the back of her girlfriend's head. Anna turns around. "Four _thousand_ dollars?" She repeats in a squiggly whisper.

"Anna, we're in SoHo."

"Ohmygod why did we have to come here?"

"Cause you wanted to?" Rapunzel retorts from behind her cousin. 

Anna checks another price tag, maybe the one she just saw was an extraordinary exception—$5,400.00 and it's on _sale_ —she feels faint.

"Didn't your parents say you could get anything?" Rapunzel asks.

"Well, yes but you see these prices, right? It's too much. I don't wanna splurge. That's an abuse of power I couldn't live with."

Elsa looks at her amusedly. "And yet, you chose SoHo, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city."

"I still have hopes, okay? There's gotta be something in here that won't make me feel indebted to my parents for the rest of my life."

"Dude, they pay your tuition in full. What's a dress gonna do?"

Anna can feel her expression turn more and more into one of those anime cartoons she used to watch as a kid. The mortified one, with the shadowy background and those big blank eyes.

"Maybe we could try another store?" Elsa tells her while her hand goes to tickle down Anna's forearm. It's a gesture meant to appease her, so Anna pouts, looking to raise the stakes. Maybe if she starts crying Elsa will kiss her.

She kisses her anyway, without having to shed a single tear, and Anna is content once more. Kind of. She still has to find a dress that doesn't cost more than a small intestine on the black market. Of course, she doesn't say this out loud because Elsa doesn't have to know how she knows it. She was bored once, that's all anyone needs to know.

They leave the store and continue walking south Broadway until they make a right turn towards Mercer Street. The road is significantly less chaotic and Anna's hopes of finding a decently priced dress are renewed.

"I still can't believe a dress could cost that much." Anna is shaking her head. She loves clothes but damn, they can be mad expensive sometimes.

"I don't think we would have found the right dress in there," Rapunzel says. "I saw they were selling a Bluetooth beanie for a hundred bucks."

"What's a Bluetooth beanie supposed to do for you?" Elsa asks, genuinely confused. She is walking with her arm draped over Anna's shoulders, which makes the white fabric of her shirt shift to the side just enough so that Anna can see the soft curvature of her bra-clad breast. She'd had a project presentation today, Elsa had said. Hence the reason behind this sinful piece of clothing.

But Anna doesn't mind, though. Not a single tiny bit.

"I think they have speakers integrated or something."

Elsa shakes her head disapprovingly. "If only we could find the cure for cancer instead of these unnecessary gadgets."

"Sometimes you sound like such an old, salty woman, my dear cousin."

"That's because she _is_ one," Anna quips.

Her girlfriend pushes her away with an indignant gasp.

"But I looove you," the redhead singsongs. She extends her arms towards Elsa with her lips puckered. "Come back to me!"

"No!" Elsa exclaims through a laugh.

"You guys are so weird."

"Come back!" Anna yells.

Elsa takes off in a run.

She never had a chance. The girl runs like a damn gazelle, but Anna tries anyway and manages to catch up to her when Elsa stops by the display window of a modest yet charming boutique. She looks back and finds Rapunzel walking at her own pace, refusing to follow them on their run.

"Anna, you run like a baby chicken," Rapunzel states when she catches up.

The redhead scoffs through her attempt at catching her breath. "How dare you."

Elsa is covering her mouth but her entire face is laughing.

"I do not run like a baby chicken," Anna insists as they enter the store.

"Okay, maybe not a chicken. Does a penguin sound better for ya?"

Anna regrets the morning she told Rapunzel she looked like a cockatoo because ever since that day the brunette has had no mercy on her.

Her girlfriend snorts. " _Okay_ , children. How about we focus on our task here?"

Without much reluctance coming from both parties they split... mostly. Rapunzel heads towards the back of the store while Elsa trails after Anna towards the nearest rack to their right.

"You don't run like a baby chicken," Elsa says close to her ear. "Or a penguin for that matter."

When Anna turns around, the blonde is regarding her with bright blue eyes.

They're approached by a lady who asks if they need any help looking for something in specific. A graduation dress, Anna responds, but nothing that looks like a gown or that ends mid-thigh. It's not a party, just the ceremony.

"Something chic then", the woman says with an emphasis on the first two letters of chic. A bit pretentious. She walks them to a few racks farther down and begins sorting through the dresses herself. Anna doesn't want that though, she wants to make the discovery on her own. She cranes her neck and sees that Rapunzel has gotten rid of the retail girl that had tried to intercept her, but before she can try to do the same Elsa speaks out.

"We could take a look at a few of these ourselves, if that's okay."

"Of course, sweetie," Lady Chic says easily. She's not pretentious, Anna realizes, she just takes her role very seriously. 

There's a few dresses that immediately catch both their attentions and Anna doesn't hesitate to get them off the rack before handing them to the blonde. In the end, she ends up with four likely prospects. They tell Rapunzel that she will be trying on a few dresses and the girl, distracted by the fedora hat she's placed on her head, tells them that she will be over soon.

Anna tries on a forest green dress first. It falls nicely from her waist but the bust sags a little and something on her lower back keeps giving her an itch. She doesn't come out to show it to her girlfriend since there's no need to even consider it, so she discards it and begins reaching for the next one.

Then, an idea fueled by an urge.

"Elsa, can you come over here? I need help zipping down this dress, I can't reach it."

She hears Elsa approach by the closeness of her voice. "How did you zip it up then if you couldn't—"

Anna quickly opens the door, grabs her arm, pulls her inside and shuts the door again.

"What the— _Oh_."

Anna is in nothing but her underwear, smiling slyly and beckoning her closer with her eyes.

The blonde's hands are cold enough to leave a trail of goosebumps when she runs them down her waist. Anna shivers, grabbing the lapels of her shirt in order to pull her closer. That sinful shirt, she has the time to think before Elsa captures her lips with her own.

Her senses are split between the taste of Elsa's minty tongue and the hands roaming sensuously over her back. She knows they shouldn't be doing this but (that damn shirt) she can't help it. Not when Elsa's hands have traveled down to her ass and the only natural reaction is for Anna to welcome the touch by moaning into the blonde's mouth.

Elsa pulls away with a cheeky grin. "Are you trying to get us caught?" She whispers.

"No," Anna drawls. 

"Cause you can be very loud sometimes," the girl tells her. She's guiding her backwards to where the wall is with her hands securely on her hips. She pins her there, with both her body and her gaze, before her mouth begins a languid trail from the lobe of Anna's ear to the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. "Are you going to be loud this time too?" She breathes.

Anna shivers. There's wetness building between her legs that she knows will not be taken care of right now. Not with the way Elsa is teasing her. Why, oh why must she do this to herself?

Because Elsa in a button-up shirt, that's why.

"You're my biggest torment," Anna breathes, ignoring the question. They both know the answer to that already.

The blonde chuckles against her neck before she straightens up. Her arms remain wrapped around her waist, stable and safe. "But I'm also your greatest comfort," she teases.

"Arrogance won't take you very far." The retort falls flat because Anna has chosen to focus on undoing a button of her shirt so that she can place her palms over the skin she finds underneath. Anna can feel the steady beating of Elsa's heart. It gives her comfort.

"Actually, you're right," Elsa says, more sober now. With no shoes on, Anna's height reaches up to the blonde's nose and the girl uses this to her advantage by dropping a lingering kiss on her forehead. "How are you feeling by the way?"

"Stupidly aroused."

Elsa chuckles. "Is that it?"

Anna shakes her head, rests the side of it on the blonde's shoulder and hugs her. She looks at their reflection on the mirror: her own in nothing but a cream lacy bra and matching cheeky briefs, and Elsa in her lightly disheveled shirt and black jeans. Almost naked and fully clothed. Is it normal to feel comfortable in a situation like this? With the right person it can be, she muses.

"I'm feeling a little anxious," she admits. "But nothing I can't deal with."

"You know, if you want to talk about it..."

"I'm okay, sweetheart," she tells her with a smile. And she is, in all honesty. She gets tids and bits of anxiety at random times, which have heightened in force and number as graduation nears, but they tend to flutter away if she focuses hard enough on other things. Like dress shopping.

_God I need to find a dress._

Before Elsa can say anything else, there is a timid knock on the door. The voice on the other side, however, is not.

"I swear to God if you two are having sex in there I'm gonna strangle you."

Elsa leaves her to open the door of the fitting room wide enough to show her head. "Hello, dear cousin."

"Dude, you _abandoned_ me back there. That woman kept following me around like she wanted to abduct me or something."

"Sorry, Anna had problems with a zipper."

Anna giggles. She pokes Elsa's glorious butt and the blonde swats her hand away without looking.

"Zipper my ass. Anna, get your woman away from the door, you gotta take a look at these dresses."

The last word does it. She takes hold of the door and opens it enough that her head can fit through it as well. Rapunzel catches a glimpse of her semi-naked torso and gasps. "Oh you were _so_ having sex in there!"

"I was trying a dress on!"

"Right. You know what? Whatever. It's not like I haven't heard you guys before. Honestly Anna, you can be so loud sometimes."

Her cheeks turn crimson red. To her right, Elsa is trying to cover up her embarrassment behind her palm and muttering something that sounds a lot like I told you.

"But check these out, ma dude," the brunette continues, unaffected. "I think the winner's in here... Unless you found it already?"

"No."

"Ha. Knew it. You probably tried like one and a half before Elsa stormed inside to claim you."

"Oh God please stop," her cousin mutters.

Laughing, Rapunzel hands one dress over to Anna and three more to Elsa. "By the way, if the winner _is_ there, you owe me a burger. If not, it's gonna be Elsa's turn to go take a look. I'm not letting you guys use my services for free so that you can sneak away to have sex."

"It wasn't sex," Anna whispers harshly. She wishes it had been, though.

The blonde places the pile of dresses on the bench so that she can sort them and hang them from the hooks attached to the wall. She doesn't stay inside the fitting room and Anna thinks it might be for the best. They'll get too distracted, it'll take forever to try anything at all.

"You're relentless," Anna hears her say with a laugh.

First comes an emerald dress covered in floral embroidery that hugs tightly at her waist and cascades down to her knees. It has a V-neckline and an open back. At first sight, it looks nice, but Elsa takes a second look at her chest and, widening her eyes, she says: "Your boobs look huge."

"Yah, it's like you walked in with a B and came out with a D. That's magic right there."

So maybe not this one. She doesn't need her parents thinking that she's saved up their stipend to pay for a boob job.

Next is a white dress with sheer lace around the hem. It feels as comfortable as if she were wearing pure cotton. Elsa likes it, and so does Rapunzel when she hoots and exclaims, "With this one wearing that gay ass shirt all you're missing are the flowers for a wedding picture.

Both girls blush.

Anna then tries a cornflower blue with a halter neckline and a flirty skater skirt that flares below a banded waist. However, it stops mid-thigh and despite Elsa's sudden lustful expression, she can't help feeling like it's a tad too much for a graduation ceremony.

Rapunzel waves her hand. "I just brought that one cause I knew it was gonna look hot on you. You don't have to wear it that day but you _have_ to buy it. I can already see all the gals and girls falling at your feet with that one—no offence."

"Thanks?" Elsa says.

There is one dress left to try. Its color is ivory and it is made of chiffon; fine and soft. It has a scoop neck that shows off the ends of her collarbone and spaghetti straps that criss-cross over her bare back. The skirt falls loosely to the middle of her calves and when she twirls around the fabric follows with a soft flare.

"You look like a princess," Rapunzel says dreamily as soon as she steps outside.

Elsa on the other hand cannot seem to utter a single word. She is looking at her from where she stands by the bench with a soft smile and bright, enamored eyes. Still silent, she walks up to her and leans down to kiss her on the cheek. "You look stunning, my love."

Anna pats her chest gently, right above the lapels of her shirt. "You're not so bad yourself."

A dress has finally been chosen.

* * *

May 20. One day before graduation.

Anna keeps biting her lip as she walks with Kristoff through Greenwich Village. She had been hanging out at Reggio, sipping a decaf—she can't afford being more jittery than she already is—and writing little notes of nonsense as she waited for her best friend to be done with whatever last minute documents he needed to turn in so that he could walk her to the train station, where Anna is meant to take the northbound E line to where her parents are staying. She'd rather take the L and go as far as the other side of Brooklyn but it seems like not everything is possible in life.

"You're gonna bite through your lip if you keep doing that," Kristoff points out, his brown eyes full of concern.

Anna stops before her hand goes up to touch her moist, most likely reddened lower lip. "Sorry."

"Hey, it's alright." He throws his bulky arm around her shoulders. "You know, last time I met up with my dad I got so sick to the stomach I thought it was those two cups of noodles I ate, remember? You told me, Kristoff you're gonna regret that in the morning—" he says this in a high-pitched voice— "and I _did_ feel sick, but it wasn't because of that, it was cause of my dad. He makes me really anxious too; it's dreadful."

"That's because your dad's no fun," Anna states. And he isn't. In fact, he's a condescending Prick with a capital P, whom Anna met once during one of his bi-yearly visits to his son and who told her that a pretty face like hers was not meant to be buried in a book.

"True, true, but your parents aren't as bad as my dad. Which gives us hope, right?"

"I guess, yeah." She thinks back to what Elsa had said the morning after she'd told the truth to her mom. If she were so against it she would have reacted very differently already. This may be true, to a certain level, but what Elsa had not known is how nitpicky her mother can be. She may not be against her daughter dating a girl, but there's gotta be something at fault here.

Still, she takes a deep breath and lets it out through her mouth. "It's gonna be okay," she says mostly to herself.

"It _is_ gonna be okay, little one, and we'll be there to back you up."

Anna soon enters the underground station, boards the E train and finds a seat between a Hispanic woman carrying a basket of flowers and a heavily built man with tattoos all over his biceps. A typical New York City ride. There is an ad in front of her that says Need a Vacation From Reality? and a big neon YES shows up in her mind. Maybe, she thinks, she can travel somewhere with Elsa sometime soon. But they're going to Kristoff's place this summer. Yeah, but that's only for like, a weekend. Anna means a full week—or a month— somewhere outside of the States, like Mexico, or the Bahamas. Or maybe even Europe. That would be so nice; she can picture it already. Elsa in a black bikini in Mexico, cuddles on a hammock, drinks by the beach. Or maybe Paris, sipping hot chocolate at the Champ de Mars as they watch the Eiffel Tower light up at night. Anna could dedicate some leisure time to start a novel while Elsa reads her medical books, one after the other.

Before she has any more time to fantasize about her vacation from reality 7 Avenue Station is announced. A dinging sound, the doors part open and Anna steps out into the bustling station. She's feeling slightly apprehensive but the inevitability of the circumstances prevents her from feeling too much of anything else. She doesn't feel like she's walking into her doom per se. It's more like a low-key angsty party of three.

The Warwick stands right next to that red LOVE sculpture every tourist on earth likes to capture a picture with, and Anna gets distracted by the entrance of the hotel for a few seconds as she observes the long line that awaits their turn. The doorman greets her with a short, charming smile as he allows her to step into the revolving door with a white-gloved hand.

Anna soon feels out of place as she glances at the chandelier hanging over the center of the lobby and surveys the sleek, well-dressed patrons. She feels like that kid from Home Alone, except that she's all the childishness and none the bravery. Or like a girl scout, except—again—the same thing. She looks for the entrance of the restaurant but with all these thoughts pouring down on her she's having a hard time concentrating on her quest. A bellman steps up to her and asks her if she needs help with anything. _Yeah, I'm here to sell you some of my Girl Scout cookies._ Anna nearly snorts in spite of herself. Instead, she asks where the restaurant is and the bellman gives her an insanely cordial smile (Where do they find these guys?) before he points at the inconspicuous sign holder that says Murals on 54 Restaurant.

She gives the man a sheepish smile and a small thank you before she strides over to the glass doors that separate the restaurant from the lobby. Over last night's phone call Anna had easily agreed to meeting them here because there's something about the anonymity of hotels that makes them feel like neutral ground. Like in those action movies where negotiations always occur in European hotel lounges. Nobody freaks out there.

_Cause it's neutral ground, so keep it cool._

But keeping it cool is exactly what Anna does not do. Upon catching her mother's face through the glass, her heart does a somersault. She quickly steps to the side, away from the doors, and takes a deep breath that does nothing to ease her thumping heart. Looking for a quick dose of distraction Anna checks her phone. There's a new text from Elsa that says _I love you. I'll be here when you come back,_ and by here she means Anna's apartment. She gave her a spare key after Mr. Nap had insisted, in his own broken English, to "Keep a copy of key for emergency, Mees Ana. Is important." So she did, and who better than the most responsible person she knows?

The promise gives her some reassurance. Whether all of this blows to pieces or remains civil and only mildly distressing, Elsa will be at home waiting for her.

Another deep breath.

Their parents are waiting at the table when she finally steps through the doors. The place is crowded with more of those well-dressed middle-agers and Anna feels out of place once more. It's the backpack, she thinks. Should have left it with Kristoff.

"Hi!" She greets in a small voice.

In an instant, trepidation is substituted by something clearer; something closer to the heart. As if seeing them here, in the flesh, has awakened that all-too-familiar longing she grew up with.

Anna has deeply missed them.

Both her parents stand up, but it is her dad who steps closer first. The smell of his cologne hasn't changed but the last time Anna had hugged him after he'd come for a business trip, his waist had been bigger. He's lost weight. Not enough to be worrisome but enough to see a difference. He's also let his scruff grow into a red-haired beard and at fifty, Anna is beginning to see the lines of age on his forehead and on the corner of his eyes.

Her mother hugs her next but doesn't ask if Anna's lost weight, if she's been eating well, or if she's slept enough. None of those things Anna has seen happening in televised mother-and-daughter exchanges. Ah well. Her mother has changed less, and Anna suspects it is because she hasn't dropped that nightly facial routine she's practiced since Anna was a child. She does appear to have permanently stuck to her glasses though, but her brown eyes remain as piercing as ever. Nothing escapes her.

"How are you guys?" She asks with a casualty she doesn't feel. As soon as she sits, she tucks her hands between her thighs and the chair in an attempt to keep them from fidgeting with the pyramid-folded napkin that's been placed on the table.

"We're doing well," her mother says, taking reigns of the conversation. "I was telling your dad that it's been so long since we've been to the city together we're apt to take advantage of it."

A waiter comes to the table and asks Anna if she would like anything to drink. Straight whiskey and keep 'em coming, she wants to drawl. That would surely get a reaction out of her mother. "Iced tea?" She half-asks, half-requests.

The young man gives her a princely nod and leaves. Anna doesn't look at the menu yet.

"Do you guys have any plans for the next few days?" She asks them, warming up with small talk.

"Your mother wants to go to the Met," her dad says. "But I want to take a bike through Central Park."

"We could do both?" Anna asks, hopeful. Her need to please them has started to show again.

"We could," her father says. There's something in the way he carries himself now that had not been there before but Anna cannot pinpoint exactly what it is. The last time she saw him, his sole presence felt like a tour de force. Sure, he was all over the place and Anna had barely managed to carry a conversation that wasn't interrupted by a text or a phone call, but now... It's like he's had the energy sucked out of him.

Prince Charming returns with her iced tea and offers to take their food orders if they're ready. Anna hasn't even glanced at the menu but she opens it, scans the pastas and orders a pomodoro. After he leaves, it's back to business.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" Her dad asks.

"I am." This is the easiest smile she'll give tonight. "It's still hard to wrap my head around it, though. These four years have gone by crazy fast."

"Have you thought about what your next step is?" It is her mother who asks this. Her eyes inquiring yet distant.

"I—yeah. I've been looking for jobs at writing agencies and publishing houses, mostly. But it's been harder than I thought, even for entry level jobs or non-paid internships."

Everyone wants a chance at New York, sugar. That's what Theo had told her the last time they visited. Somehow, its effect had been dispiriting and inspiring at the same time.

Her mother sighs through her nose. "It won't be easy. And a creative writer... not everyone needs one nowadays." It's a jab and Anna knows it. She's never fully approved of Anna's choice.

"I'll do my best," Anna says. She glances at her father who gives her a small, genuine smile and nods. It almost seems like he's showing her that he's proud. It feels nice. Odd, but nice.

Sipping her iced tea gives her the opportunity to mull over her next choice of words. Her mother has given no indication of even remembering that Anna has a girlfriend. Surely her father is clueless, so there's that as well. Suddenly, Anna wishes Elsa were here sitting next to her, or at least standing behind those glass doors, giving her a thumbs up and flashing her that doofus grin Anna is so hopelessly in love with.

Then, she considers not bringing the subject up. But what's the point of holding it back anymore?

"So... mom." Her heart is starting to thump against her throat. "About what I told you the other day... about, um, Elsa?"

"Elsa..?" The phone by her hand chimes and she lifts it up to look at the new notification. She decides it can wait—a first—and puts it back down.

"My," Anna clears her throat. She glances at her father, who's looking at her with curiosity and then at her mother, who appears as stoic as a judge. "My girlfriend?" The words are muttered so lowly; so cowardly, she thinks with distaste.

Her eyes fall back to her father in order to catch his initial reaction, but all he does is take it in and sit back on his chair. Not a word; not an outburst either. Anna only takes her eyes off him when her mother speaks out.

"Oh, of course," she says vaguely, "What about her?"

Anna frowns. "Is that—aren't you upset?"

"Why would I be, Anna? You're so young still. There's nothing wrong with experimentation."

_Oh no._

"If I'm honest with you, I went through similar experiences as you, although I must admit," she says with a humorless laugh, "I never went as far as calling any girl my _girl_ friend."

Her dad has leaned closer to the table again but that's as far as his reaction goes. "Elizabeth..."

Anna is horrified. "I'm not experimenting with anything, mom. I'm in love with her," she tells her mother, her father; anyone who will listen at this point.

Her mom looks at her with a sickening mixture of affection and condescension. "I'm sure you are, honey. Love at your age goes as easily as it comes."

"That's not—" _What?_ _That's not how it feels with her?_ "That's not always true..."

"Let me ask you this, Anna—" She is interrupted by the waiter setting the plates on the table before he's waived off by Anna's father. "What are your plans for the future?" She barely spares the parting man a glance. "Have you thought about that? Or are you just living on cloud nine right now, getting distracted with your _girl_ friend while you put your dreams on the back burner?"

Since when do you care, Anna wants to cry out. 

"Those two things are completely unrelated." 

"Oh, honey, but they're not. Do you think people don't have to constantly sacrifice one thing over the other to achieve their dreams? Do you really _think_ that this Elsa girl will be around when you have to face this choice? You're smarter than that—"

" _Enough_." Her father's voice is like a booming finality. But it is too late now; Anna is far too gone into herself. "That's enough, Elizabeth."

Her mother looks at him, flared up. Anna has never seen anyone interrupt her with such force. Not even her dad.

"Don't project yourself onto her," he tells her. There is something hidden behind those words that only they seem to understand, but whatever the meaning may be, it shuts her up.

The rest of the dinner goes by so painfully awkward that Anna considers choking on a tomato just to clear the air. She wishes she could stand up, throw the napkin on the table, give a parting statement that will leave her parents dumbfounded and walk away. Her appetite is gone, and so is her mind, elsewhere. 

She figures that at least everything is out in the open and the anxious anticipation she once felt is now gone. In its place, however, is something Anna would much rather do without. She feels dread, nauseating and overpowering. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that makes her push half of her food around the plate.

She thinks of Elsa, of how sure her mother sounds in her prediction and of how much Anna thinks she is wrong. Because not everything has to be black and white. Not everything should have to be sacrificed. 

Then, her father's words. 

She sneaks a glance at them. Her mother is mumbling about some motion to compel, but her words are directed at the plate and there's little to no engagement between the two (Anna nods here and there, but engages even less than her dad). She knows her father is listening but the distance expressed deeper than mere physicality is hard to miss.

When was the last time she saw the two of them together? She saw her mother at the beginning of last year, and her father a little later than that. But together... Now that she thinks about it, they had not visited together since the first year Anna had moved to New York.

When dinner is over Anna quietly announces her departure with the excuse that she wants to get enough rest for tomorrow's big ceremony. Rest may be hard to come, but Elsa will be there and that's all the comfort she needs right now.

Her father offers to walk her out and order a cab for her, and Anna feels slightly guilty for being surprised that he's even offered.

Anna hugs her mother goodbye with a wan smile. "We'll see you tomorrow, honey," she hears her say with a soft and solemn voice. 

She tries not to cry.

On the lobby, her father stops her with a hand on the shoulder. His bright blue eyes regard her in silence for a few seconds.

"You're not experimenting," he says. It's not a question, it's a statement.

Anna shakes her head weakly.

The hug surprises her. It is encompassing and warm, and Anna thinks with great longing that this is what it must be like to be close to your parents. Because his arms around her no longer feel like a weak gesture of formality, but rather of safety and unwavering protection.

Anna grips the back of his sports jacket. It takes everything in her to keep her tears at bay.

When she arrives home Elsa is sitting on the bed with a book in her hands. As soon as the redhead steps foot inside the apartment she places a bookmark between the pages, closes it and places it on the nightstand.

"Hey," Elsa whispers. 

Anna discards her backpack then her shoes. She is tired and numb, and hungry without the appetite. Her knees are ready to give in under her, and when Elsa finally embraces her, she succumbs.

Her tears fall quietly down her cheeks. There's no sob that breaks through her chest, not a single mournful sound. All there is is a tired sigh, a closing of her eyes, and a tightening in their embrace. They stand there for a few minutes with Elsa stroking her hair and Anna taking deep breaths.

"You wanna tell me how it went?"

Anna does. 

As they lie in bed, she tells her everything in a manner different from the way she tends to talk—quietly and pensively—, from the looks of the hotel to what it felt like to see her parents again. She tells Elsa about her mother's sternness, about her father's change in demeanor and subsequent reaction, and about how different they seem to act around each other now. Elsa listens and not once does she interrupt, and beneath the surface of Anna's recounting, she thinks with affection that nobody has ever listened to her the way Elsa does.

"I'm not sure how tomorrow's gonna go." It's a thought that hasn't left her since she boarded the train back home. She wonders if she should have warned them that they'll be meeting her girlfriend tomorrow but what's the point? It probably wouldn't make things any easier. 

Elsa pushes her bangs away from her forehead and Anna smiles a little. She's noticed how much the blonde likes to do that. It's a gesture that is solely hers.

"Whatever happens, I won't leave your side this time."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"I'll have to use the restroom eventually," she jokes. The effort is small, but it's there. A little ray of sunshine seeping through gray clouds.

"I'll hold your hand from under the stall."

Anna giggles. "That would raise so many questions."

"None I care to answer," she replies before pulling her closer at the waist. "I love you, Anna... I want you to remember that. It's not experimental and it's not temporal. I know that at our age everything feels permanent when it isn't, but you have to know that I'm so in love with you... I don't think I could ever feel this way with anyone again."

Tears prick her eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time today. To think that she could have never met Elsa at that party... To think that she could have never met her at all.

"I don't think I could, either," she whispers.

And she won't.

* * *

Thursday, May 21, 2020 is warm and cloudless... outside.

Inside of Elsa's apartment, it is stuffy and a havoc, and it smells like conditioner or pizza depending on where you're standing. After arriving that morning from Anna's place, the living room slowly turned into a hair salon slash gaming room when Eugene and Kristoff showed up with a large Joe's cheese pie and Kristoff's Xbox console, knowing well enough that there will be a lot of waiting around for three girls to get ready.

Halo is the video game being currently played, or some other version of the same violence. Anna doesn't know. All she can hear are muffled gunshots and weird commands from inside the bathroom. She's been drying her hair for nearly fifteen minutes but is almost done, and thank God for that, because the room is starting to become mildly claustrophobic with all this noise and all this humidity. 

When she steps out, she finds Eugene lounging on the armchair and munching a slice of pizza, mindful enough to use a paper towel as a bib over his crisp white shirt. His stubble has been trimmed and his brown hair has been coiffed. On the loveseat, Kristoff sits wearing an equally white shirt with his black tie unmade and draped around his neck. He's opted out of the coiffed hairdo himself because Anna made a face that was starting to tell him That's not your look before Eugene straight up told him he looked like that killer from Psycho. It is Kristoff who is causing all those virtual gunshots. Him and (why is it not surprising?) Elsa. The blonde is sharing the couch with him, aggressively pushing the buttons of the controller; her brow knit tight in vehement concentration, her eyes set in a fierce focus. She misses when her girlfriend first walks out of the bathroom, but Anna figures it must be a good thing for Rapunzel because the brunette is just as intent on braiding her cousin's hair from her position on the back of the loveseat.

Overall, quite a sight. Like a dysfunctional family of pre-teens.

It is Eugene who notices her first, offering a slice of pizza that she declines. Her appetite is still very much _kaputt_. It has been so since that pomodoro she barely dined on last night.

Immediately after, Elsa turns to look at her, killing her character in the process and earning a hard slap on the shoulder. "Stay still," Rapunzel says. Then, to Anna: "You're up next."

"You should charge, babe," Eugene mumbles through a mouthful of cheese, marinara sauce and dough.

"Hey, gorgeous," the blonde greets, glancing sideways at her with a smile. She doesn't risk another slap but she hands the controller back to Kristoff and says, "You sucked."

Anna chuckles as she leaves them for Elsa's room. She has no real reason to be there but she's not feeling quite herself right now. She doesn't want to pamper anyone's mood.

"I'm not the one that died after walking right in front of a bazooka," she hears Kristoff say.

"See, that's how I know you sucked. That wasn't a bazooka, that was a recoilless Stovepipe with a solid-propeller rocket, otherwise known as HEAT. Do your homework, blondie boy."

There's a few sniggers and a boyish _Ow!_ coming from Eugene. Anna can't stop herself from snorting.

"Alright, who else wants to play?" Kristoff mumbles sorely.

Just as Anna is getting her dress off the door's hook to lay it on the bed, Elsa pads in with a neat braid cascading down her shoulder, still wearing that flannel shirt and faded blue jeans that had driven Rapunzel to give her the official title of the lesbian archetype. Anna bites her lip to stop the teasing grin that's threatening to come out.

"How do you know so much about armament?" Anna asks her.

"I don't," she replies with a grin, lowly enough not to be heard by the people in the living room. "I just read a very detailed book about World War Two once and told him whatever terms I could remember."

Anna laughs hard at this. "You're too smart for your own good sometimes."

The blonde brings an index up to her smiling lips. "He doesn't need to know that."

She shakes her head amusedly before her eyes fall back to the ivory dress that awaits her. 

"What's on your mind?" Elsa asks.

A thousand and one things, but to name one would be to name them all, like pulling at an infinite thread made out of words. Still, there's one thought in particular that's been roaming about since this morning.

"I keep thinking that I've been so lost in my own thoughts that I haven't asked you how _you_ are feeling. I mean, you're meeting my parents after all. Aren't you a little nervous at least?"

"I am... a lot nervous actually."

Anna inhales deeply and lets the air out like a deflating balloon. "I'm pulling you through too much drama, aren't I?"

"None I'm not willing to go through for you," she says, inching closer in order to grab Anna's hands. "Besides, you're not _putting_ me through anything. I'm here for you, even through the lowest of lows, remember?"

Anna smiles. She does remember.

"Annaaaa," Rapunzel howls from the living room, "Come to _mammaaaa_." And then to the boys: "See what I did there?"

"Genius."

"I'm dating an eminence."

"How long do we have left?" She asks the blonde.

"Like an hour and a half."

Anna pouts.

"Okay, I'll tell you what. While you get your hair done I'll pour you a glass of our complimentary wine so that you can relax a bit. Just one. I'll drink with you, too."

"Is it the wine that makes me feel like Hemingway?"

Elsa chuckles. "Yes. But we're trying to be Maya Angelou here, remember?"

As the blonde leads her out of the room and back to the living room Anna asks: "Can I see your dress now?"

"No," Elsa smirks back at her. "Soon."

And soon comes fast. 

Anna has always been pegged as a talker. On various occasions she's been asked by professors to keep it short because she has the tendency to delve in deep when it comes to a subject she enjoys. As a kid, she used to talk for hours with her stuffed animals before going to sleep, recounting everything she had done that day. As a teeny tiny teenager, she became friends with her new neighbor until he stopped talking to her because, as he'd said when she confronted him, she was a blabbermouth. This earned him a kick in the shin from a furious little girl who thought blabbermouth was an insult. And in a way, it was intended to be. Anna was quick to learn this.

But with a life of talking came wondrous little moments of speechlessness. When Anna witnessed the ocean for the first time, she was speechless. No words could do its vastness any justice, so she chose not to try. When she flew over New York City to start her new life: speechless. Because, why speak when you can look out the window and feel as though you can reach out and graze the tip of the Empire State Building with your hand? Then again, the first time her eyes met Elsa's she was robbed of her ability to speak. Now, as she watches her girlfriend come out of her room full on dressed and made-up, Anna has no idea what to say.

Elsa is wearing an off-the-shoulder, midnight blue dress that falls with a flair to her calves. Her skin—the skin Anna has so often kissed—is bare from her neck to her collarbone, while her toned, runner's legs end on a pair of imposing ankle strap stilettos. It makes Anna think of a queen, the way she carries herself so royally and with such a staggering poise.

"Woah... Elsa..."

Elsa's hips sway back and forth as she makes her way over to where Anna sits with her mouth agape on the couch. The kiss she gives her breaks her out of her daze.

"We should get going," she tells her with a knowing smirk.

* * *

**The President, Professors, and Trustees of**

**New York University** ****

Be it known that we in recognition of the successful completion of the requisite course of study in our

**College of Arts and Science**

by virtue of authority granted us by charter of the State of New York do confer upon

**Anna Summers**

the degree of

**Bachelor of Arts**

with all the rights, privileges, and immunities thereunto appertaining. In witness whereof we have caused this Diploma to be signed by the duly authorized officers of the University with our corporate seal, in the City of New York, May, Two thousand twenty.

Anna reads these words from top to bottom once, then twice. Pride flutters inside her chest. It's aggrandizing; expansive. It courses through her body like wind courses through a forest, fitting into every crevice it can find. I made it, she thinks. I freaking _made_ it. Despite the mixture of emotions clashing against one another, Anna allows herself this brief moment of self-satisfaction. She thinks of all those hours she spent reading, analyzing and writing. All those days she had to rush with her backpack flapping up and down from school to work, and from work to school. All those late nights she spent thinking of prompts and ideas and stories. All those memories she made with her testosterone-filled group of friends. All those lessons she learned from her professors and all those inspirational little notes she got to scribble at the top of her journal pages. It all makes her feel nostalgic and exhilarated at the same time. Oddly enough, she thinks first not of the advice her parents would give her, but of Theo's. It's all onward from here, sugar, she'd probably say. Follow those dreams and don't stop until you get 'em.

She wishes Theo were here, but the long trip to Manhattan and back takes a great toll on her and besides, she said, she doesn't want the girls watching after an old lady on the day they're supposed to be celebrating. Still, Anna made sure Elsa took enough pictures to fill two albums so that they can show Theo and the rest of their friends at Castle Senior Center next time they go.

When the commencement is over and the caps have been thrown up in the air, the sitting crowd breaks and becomes a myriad of slow passers. Thanks to the Nordic freaking stature of her girlfriend, Anna doesn't waste too much time in finding Elsa and by proxy Rapunzel amidst violet gowns and well-dressed family members.

As soon as she is close, Elsa engulfs her in a hug that makes her feel wholesome. "I'm so, so proud of you," she says so that only Anna can hear her. 

Rapunzel squeals next to them before she's let go of the blonde; Eugene has joined the group.

After a warm exchange of hugs Eugene announces: "I'm gonna introduce her to my parents but I'll meet you guys outside."

She receives a text from her dad that tells her they'll be waiting by the left wing entrance of the orchestra. The crowd, rather than dispersing, is beginning to clog the exits, turning their steps into a funeral march that Anna uses to her advantage to try to appease her jittery nerves. Elsa is running her thumb over the back of her hand, but the action feels distant in comparison to the narrow sensation of expectancy jamming her throat.

"Anna."

She turns to the source of the sound. It is Elsa.

"I have chocolate in my purse," she tells her with a soft smile. "You want it?"

Her eyes widen in surprise. "You shouldn't even have to ask."

Elsa giggles. She lets go of her hand long enough to pull out a chocolate bar from her clutch that she opens and hands to the redhead.

Anna takes a bite and immediately welcomes the sensation of melting chocolate in her tongue. They're getting closer to the entrance but at least now she'll have something to munch on.

She sees her father towering over most of the people that surround him and Anna takes a deep, self-encouraging breath as she takes the final steps through the crowd. Behind her, Elsa squeezes her hand in reassurance. 

Her mother is nowhere in sight but her father is there alright, standing with his hands deep inside the pocket of his dress pants and giving her a smile that is both proud and tentative.

Anna welcomes the brief although tight hug he gives her.

"Where's mom?"

"She had to take a phone call. Reception's bad in here so she stepped outside."

A tight-lipped smile. Well then, it seems like we can't just rip the band-aid off only once, can we?

"Dad, this is Elsa," she says, the smallest hint of hesitance laced in her voice. "My girlfriend." Even under these circumstances, saying those words gives her a slight rush of excitement. My _girl_ friend, she thinks sardonically. My drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend who's smart enough to make you think she knows all about World War Two armament. Oh, and did I forget to tell you—

"She's a doctor."

Her father frowns, confused, in the middle of shaking the blonde's hand.

"Wait—"

"Anna..."

"Sorry, I said that out loud. She's not a doctor... yet."

Off to a great start.

"I'm a med student," Elsa explains. She is smiling at the redhead as she says this; that smile of hers that's both teasing and full of endearment.

Her father appears impressed. "What specialty?"

"Cardiology."

Even more impressed. "A tough one."

"It's worth it," Elsa smiles.

She can tell the blonde is nervous by the way her hands subtly fidget with each other, her fingertips doing a little dance of swiveling and clutching, and Anna gives herself the chance to revel at how Elsa takes rein of this nervousness and translates it into polite self-confidence.

Both her dad and Elsa turn to look at her, expecting a response to a question Anna didn't even hear.

"Sorry, what?"

"Do you want to go outside? Your mother will probably be waiting for us there."

"Oh yes."

So far so... okay. But her father seems to be the one Anna shouldn't worry about as much. Still, her trepidation has subdued. She sneaks a bite of the chocolate bar she's still holding and reaches for Elsa's hand again as her father guides them towards the exit of the Music Hall. Elsa winks at her when she catches her eye and Anna swoons a little. The support her mere presence provides remains unwavering.

When they're outside she spots Kristoff hanging out with Shang and his family. Upon seeing her, Kristoff gives her a sign that Anna understands as Do you need me to come there? but Anna shakes her head. She'll text him in a few minutes. Next to him, Shang shapes a heart with his hands when he sees her with Elsa. She chuckles.

Her mother is waiting for them near the corner of 50th and 6th, close to the wall of the Hall, and away from the throng of attendees and passersby. She lowers her cellphone as soon as she sees them but doesn't put it away, a sign that usually means she's not done with it yet.

"Honey," she says, "Congratulations."

Anna hugs her tight as she catches a whiff of the perfume her mother's worn most of Anna's life; a scent of honey and sandalwood.

Behind her, Elsa and her father stand next to each other.

"Mom," she says, extending her hand towards the blonde so that she can join her by her side. "This is Elsa."

Brown, inquisitive eyes flicker from Elsa to Anna and back to Elsa just as her smile goes from genuine to plastered to sagacious. Anna cannot, for the life of her, discern what she's thinking.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Summers." Elsa shakes her hand with a smile of her own. It is soft but charming, and Anna can tell she's trying to make a good impression.

"Likewise," she says. Then, to Anna and her dad: "Shall we go out to celebrate?"

Anna watches her girlfriend quickly glance down with a frown. She squeezes her hand and makes sure to hold Elsa's eyes as she says, "We could go out for dinner?"

Given her mother's reaction last night, she had not expected a welcoming party, but to see her dismiss her girlfriend so blatantly is something she can't permit. Thankfully, approaching the group are Eugene, his parents, Rapunzel and Kristoff, and Anna lets out a faint sigh of relief she didn't know she had been holding.

Anna doesn't wait for either of her parents to respond. She takes Elsa by the hand towards their friends. Kristoff wraps her in a bear hug that lifts her up a few inches off the ground. Rapunzel hugs her again just because, her green eyes glinting with an excitement she wishes she could borrow a bit from. Eugene, eternally suave, grabs hers and Elsa's hands and says "My ladies," before he takes a small bow.

With Elsa here and now her friends, Anna knows she'll be able to weather almost anything.

Anna introduces her parents to everyone and Eugene does the same afterwards. His parents are boisterous and amicable, and Anna can now see where he got the ability to talk to anyone about anything. They're so amicable in fact that they invite them all to a celebratory dinner.

"The restaurants around here will be crammed," her father comments. "The Village should be better."

"Let's hop on those taxis then."

In the meantime, Anna pulls Elsa to the side. "Will you mind if I ride with my parents?"

"There's nine of us, I think you'll have to one way or another, sweetheart."

Anna briefly analyzes this. "Right."

Regardless, there's concern in the blonde's eyes and Anna knows exactly why. She had promised to stick by her side. "Will you be alright? We don't have to go if you don't want to."

"I'll be okay, I think. I need to talk to them. I won't be able to do anything else if I don't get this off my chest first."

"Okay," she says, her voice edging on reluctance. "We'll be riding right behind you."

Anna nods. She starts to walk back towards the rest of the group but Elsa, not having let go of her hand, stops her. When she looks back she finds blue eyes gazing at her. Beneath the bright, May sun, Elsa has not shed a single drop of sweat. Her hair is just as neat as when she first had it done and that dress of hers is still hugging her body just right. So beautiful it's unfair, Anna thinks.

"I love you," Elsa tells her.

The redhead smiles with affection. Right this moment, whether her parents are watching or not, Anna does not care; she kisses her.

"I love _you_ ," she breathes.

She gets in the yellow taxi sandwiched between her mom and her dad. Behind the wheel is a grinning man wearing a blue turban and a long, well-kept beard. "Where to?"

"51 Grove Street, please."

The man nods and says: "Seet belts, plees." When he sees everyone comply from the rear view mirror he grins again and exclaims: "Off we go!"

Anna watches the red Khanda ornament that hangs from the mirror bounce and wobble as the car begins to maneuver through the mid-afternoon traffic.

"Congratulations," the driver says after a few minutes of silence. "Graduation, yeah?"

She gives him a smile that he catches through the mirror, "Yeah, thank you."

"The ceremony was lovely," her mother says. "And that braided bun, honey, did you get it done professionally? It suits you quite well."

"No, Rapunzel did it for me."

"Rapunzel... we just met her didn't we?" The question is rather directed at her dad, who only nods. "Very lively, that one," she says as to herself.

"She's Elsa's cousin," Anna adds. It's nowhere near an explanation to the brunette's natural buoyancy but she's trying to stir the conversation away from this hellhole of a small talk.

She bites her lip once—almost hard enough to draw blood—as she looks down at the half eaten chocolate bar Elsa gave her. It's a Cadbury one, smooth and sweet, just how Anna likes them. She considers offering some to her parents but something deep inside stops her from doing it. She keeps thinking of how Elsa was dismissed by her mother, so blatantly, so unjustifiably. And her father, who's been acting so strange it's like he's been switched since the last time she saw him.

"Mom..." She starts, still gazing down at her lap. With the way she's fiddling with the chocolate it'll end up melting all over her. "I know that... you don't approve of who I'm with or, I guess, what I'm doing, but... could you at least not take it out on Elsa? She's just trying to be nice... there's no need to be rude to her."

She hopes it doesn't come out as a lecture, not when all she's trying to do is make amends for Elsa's sake.

"Anna..." Her mother says with a sigh, "I don't care if it's a boy or a girl you're dating. I've noticed your... tendencies since you were younger. But you have to understand that you're at your prime right now. You can't afford getting distracted by something as transient as a college fling."

Again with this nonsense, she thinks.

"Since when do you care?" She mutters, echoing the thought that has been reverberating in her mind since last night.

"Excuse me?"

"Since when have you two _ever_ cared?" She asks, aiming it at the two people sitting with her on the backseat of the car. She notices the driver turn the volume up a notch. She doesn't know if it's out of consideration or not. "Why is it that all of the sudden you guys care about my future, or about how I'm feeling?"

"We've always cared, Anna. We're your parents," her father responds.

There it is, like tipping the first domino piece. It's all downward from here.

"How is that _any_ guarantee?" She exclaims. It isn't, she knows this deep in her heart. It is no guarantee at all. "When was the last time you guys sat down with me or called me for a real conversation? I mean, dad, you left me on seenfor hours, and mom, you called me back _days_ later! When have you guys ever even asked me Anna how was your day, and actually _listened_?"

Her mother is shaking her head in disbelief. "We have given you _everything_ we could have possibly provided you with."

"And I'm grateful for that, I really am... but you guys were never there when I needed you the most."

"Anna..."

"No," she interrupts softly, "Just... let me finish. For once, you have no choice but to hear me out." Her voice wavers, breaking under the weight of her words. "I spent so much of my life thinking I was not good enough. I grew up with this idea that I had to _work_ for your affection, and even then I failed... I failed so hard... because you guys were so busy with work and with God knows what else that you could barely spare a glance at me. I spent nights hoping that either one of you would come in and wish me good night. I came from school day after day wishing that one of you would be there to receive me just so that I could tell you about my day, but instead I spent an entire childhood missing my parents when they were _right there_."

"Sweetheart, if we were busy it's because we were trying to give you the best life possible," her father tries to explain.

"But what about the rest!? What about the things that really mattered? Is money really the _only_ thing that matters to you?"

"You know that is not true."

"No, I _don't_ know! That's why I'm here, sitting between you two and feeling like I barely know you at all."

Her chest is constricted as she tries to keep her tears from falling. She has no idea what street they're on but given the decreasing height of the buildings around them, Anna thinks they'll be arriving any minute now. She doesn't look to her left, nor to her right. She doesn't wish to see yet what her words have caused because she is not done.

"I'd like to think that I never really asked for much..." A tear escapes her. It breaks through her lashes, tainted by her mascara, and falls down her cheek before Anna watches it fall in sorrowful silence. "But sometimes I wonder if what I truly wanted... what I _needed_ from you, was the only thing you would never be able to give me."

A few moments pass before the taxi reels to the side of the street and parks with what feels like finality. There is a pregnant pause followed by the driver clearing his throat and announcing the fare in a voice that seeks to be unobtrusive.

Anna watches as her father pulls out the cash, hands it to the man, and tells him to keep the change. She feels like a kid again, shaken and distraught, waiting for the adults to make the first move and exit the car that's becoming suffocating by the second. To her right, her mother is silent; her eyes hardened by remorse. To her left, her father gives her a repentant look that is replaced by reluctance as he reaches for the door's handle.

Anna has no idea how close her words have hit to home. She has no idea if this will change anything at all. The only thing she knows is that she wants out. She wants to run as far away from here as she possibly can.

It is with this final thought in her mind that Anna steps out into the warm breeze of May.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? :)


	16. Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Miss me!? I sure did miss you. I'm sorry for the wait... I must say I could have finished this and updated sooner but I got a dreadful cold and between making sure I wouldn't die from it and not being able to miss a day of work, I took what felt like forever. As my own act of repentance though, this will be a double update so make sure you read this and move on to ch 17 whenever you get the time! They are significantly shorter (hence the double update) but that's because I'm trying to move forward with the story. And before you ask, I'm sending Elsa off soon... I just have a few more things to cover first ;) Anyways, enjoy! And pretty please, let me know your thoughts. They mean a lot to me.
> 
> Also, disclaimer: the "crisis" mentioned below is in no way a form of mockery. Hope you guys can see it as it is: a silly, desperate and improvised measure to get out of an awkward situation.

"Sir, follow that car!"

"That was supposed to be my line!"

"You snooze, you lose, blondie boy."

"Will you guys stop calling me that," Kristoff bemoans.

Elsa smiles with slight amusement at the window of the taxicab, watching as it distances itself from the sidewalk swarming with people in order to crawl into the stream of Manhattan's traffic. It trails, like a sluggish afterthought, behind the taxi Anna and her parents have taken. She sees her through the glass of the windshield, but instead of finding herself comforted by this, Elsa feels uneasy; frustrated at the powerless sensation nagging at the back of her mind.

Still, Elsa tries to avert her thoughts, accepting that this is what Anna wanted.

She observes the throng of strangers striding to and fro as the car weaves through, making its slow way down Sixth Avenue. Countless of windows reflect the afternoon sun upon the street while skyscrapers tower on both sides, as magnificent and imposing as everything that's ever been man-made strives to be. Elsa sees all of this, lost in thought, until her eyes are no longer taking in anything at all. Building entrances start to become identical; strangers are duplicating, crossing the same streets, heading the same way back and forth. She can hear her cousin's voice, then Kristoff's, but her mind registers none of their words. She is not paying attention. She is falling deep into the realm of her memories.

_Elsa was beginning to doze off. Her breathing was evening out and her mind was going blank the way it always does when the first traces of sleep take a hold of her. Then, a single finger lightly tapping at her nose._

_"I have another one."_

_Elsa frowned, stirred and forced her eyes open. The light was out but the room was not dark enough that she couldn't see the person disturbing her sleep. After all, Elsa was lying with an arm wrapped around her waist._

_"What's that?"_

_"Another question."_

_She inhaled and exhaled, trying to brush her sleepiness aside. Her hand moved across the warm, soft skin of Anna's belly. It made the girl giggle. "Shoot," Elsa said._

_"I'll let you sleep after this one, I promise." Elsa didn't need to see her to know she was smiling. "What's one of your biggest fears?"_

_Elsa frowned at the unexpected seriousness of this question. Hadn't the last one been what her dream vacation would be like? Still, she forced herself to think. Part of her wanted to joke with Anna. Mumble something like Spiders, pull her body close against her and kiss her until they could both fall asleep. But the redhead was restless, Elsa knew this in the way that is felt rather than seen, like an imperceptible vibration; like an energy bouncing back and forth between their bodies. So she thought and thought, went around in circles, even if she knew the answer the moment Anna had asked._

_"One of my biggest fears is losing the people I love," she murmured._

_Anna's arm around her tightened. Recognizing the gesture, Elsa explained further. "Not just... you know, death. But just in general. Sometimes I'm afraid that I will do something so bad it will drive people away from me."_

_"What could possibly be so bad that you'd make them do that?"_

_Elsa has finally gone from dozy to awake, enough that she will have to go through the process of lulling herself to sleep once more. It was one of those nights, she knew this now. Those late nights where they spoke to each other about things that the darkness made easier to admit out loud._

_"No idea," she said, the warmth of her breath expanding over Anna's neck and back to her. "I can distance myself a lot. Like a defense mechanism, I guess... Similar to what happened the other day where I just shut myself off and didn't want to talk. It's like flipping a switch... Sometimes I feel like I shut myself so completely it's almost cruel to the people I love."_

_Anna remained silent for a few seconds. "The people you love, love you back too, you know?"_

_She nodded, her cheek grazing Anna's shoulder._

_"And I doubt you will ever shut off long enough for any one of us to walk away." The redhead's lips ghosted over her forehead before they dropped a sloppy kiss on it. It drew a smile out of her. "Plus, I've yet to really see that side of you."_

_Elsa didn't respond to this. No, Anna had yet to see it, but Elsa hoped it would always stay that way._

_"Your turn."_

_Anna wiggled about under her arm and Elsa couldn't help thinking this must be her attempt at finding a position that would help her think better. The position was about the same, the only difference was that Anna's left arm was bent so that her hand could rest under her head. The rest of her nearly naked body remained preoccupied with touching as much of the blonde as it could._

_"I guess, since we're talking about loved ones... I'll say that one of my biggest fears is not being able to protect the people I love."_

_"Protect them from what?" Her voice was nothing but a whisper._

_"I don't know. From anything. From bad circumstances, from sickness, from them making stupid decisions that'll put them in dangerous situations... like running into fire, you know what I mean?"_

_"Why would anyone run into fire?"_

_"People do crazy stuff sometimes, Elsa."_

_In the darkness, Elsa smiled. She had not a trace of doubt that Anna would do everything in her power to protect the ones she loved. Then again, there was something her father always used to say. That the most selfless of people were sometimes so busy looking after others that they forgot to look after themselves._

_"But what about you?" She asked._

_"What about me?"_

_Elsa propped herself up on the heel of her palm. She needed to see Anna for this, even if her face remained washed in moonlight and her eyes were dimmed by darkness. Even if doubt could still be hidden in the shadows._

_"Do you feel protected?"_

_There followed a long pause in which the two regarded each other silently. Anna shifted under her gaze only once, enough so that she could tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Elsa breathed, waiting for an answer that would tug at her heart and make it soar._

_"When I'm with you, I do."_

"Elsa..."

_Anna wrapped her up in her arms—_

"Elsa..."

_And Elsa kissed her—_

"Elsa, my dude."

Her attention snaps back to the present. The car is slowing to a halt.

"Were you tripping?" Rapunzel asks her from Kristoff's other side.

"Something like that," she mumbles.

As the driver steers the taxi towards the sidewalk, Elsa sees her girlfriend exit the car in front of her in a rush. Her face is set in a tormented frown that makes Elsa open the car's door before it has come to a complete stop.

"Anna!"

The redhead turns to look at the source of her name and her expression is washed in relief. In three strides, Anna steps into her open arms. 

Elsa catches the girl's parents watching them, their faces somber with contemplation. There is a hint of remorse that hadn't been in their eyes before. It makes her tighten her arms around Anna a little more.

She holds her for a few seconds until Anna decides it's time to take a few steps back. There are no tears threatening to fall from her eyes anymore but those that did have left tainted trails down her freckled cheeks. Elsa's hands go up to cradle them, her thumbs gently brushing the tender skin under her eyes.

Kristoff and Rapunzel have approached them by now, and a few meters away from where they stand Elsa catches Eugene getting off a taxi followed by his parents.

"Ahh, I look like crap, don't I?" Anna mutters, her voice small and hoarse.

"You still look like a princess," Elsa smiles.

"For real dude, I wish I looked like that when I cried.

Anna lets out a watery chuckle. It clears the mood a little and Elsa gives her cousin a grateful smile.

Kristoff places his hand over his best friend's shoulder before he asks: "What happened?"

Anna turns to look at him, sheepish. "Let's just say that I've put them in a very awkward situation."

* * *

The restaurant chosen by Eugene and Anna's parents is at the heart of Greenwich Village. At this time of the day, being too late for lunch and too early for dinner, the place is scarce of patrons. The hostess sits them at a large, rustic table near the back. Anna sits to her mother's left without much thought but makes sure to have Elsa sit on the other side of her. Across from the blonde is Kristoff, and next to him sit Rapunzel and Eugene.

Because ignorance is bliss, the only ones invested in this celebratory outing are Eugene's parents. Anna's own are cordial but outside of answering the couple's questions, they remain pensive, clearly affected by what Anna has told them on the way over here. The rest of the group sits, sipping on ice waters and munching on garlic rolls, ready to make an exit if Anna so wishes. 

Elsa keeps glancing at the girl sitting next to her. Her eyes are downcast. Her hands—the same hands that dance every time she speaks—remain limp over her lap. Elsa reaches for them and watches as they separate to intertwine with hers. 

"Anna."

The redhead turns to look at her.

She tilts her head close so that nobody can hear her except for her girlfriend. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

Anna leans into her in order to rest her chin on her shoulder. The hand on top of Anna's lap is squeezed.

"You being with me is enough," she whispers back to her. Then she adds as an afterthought: "But you could also take me out of here."

"I'll sweep you away like your knight in shining armor," she teases in a murmur, drawing an endearing smile out of the redhead. She doesn't rule it out completely. She's beginning to think of ways to get her out of here until she receives a hard kick under the table. _What the—_

She looks across from her and glares at Kristoff. The boy is halfway through putting another garlic roll inside his mouth.

"Oops, sorry," Rapunzel says before she shifts in her seat and kicks Anna this time.

Anna looks at her baffled, but the brunette only responds by pointing at her cellphone. She goes to check it, allowing Elsa to look in on it as well. There's a text from her cousin that says: _Eugene says that if u wanna get out of here just cough._

Both girls look at the brunette in confusion. The girl rolls her eyes before she starts typing something else on her phone. At the head of the table, the parents are discussing business. Eugene seems engaged in it but at this point Elsa doesn't believe he really is.

_In other words.. if ure not comfortable here we can ditch the parents. U look gloomy af_

Elsa reprimands her cousin with her eyes for her poor choice of words. Or lack thereof. She types like such a middle-schooler sometimes.

_How would we ditch them? That wouldn't be very nice,_ Anna replies.

She hears Rapunzel snort before another message comes: _Just cough. Leave the rest to me_

But Anna doesn't cough. Not yet. She absentmindedly takes her lower lip between her teeth but catches herself before she applies any pressure on it. She sits, thinking, while the blonde observes her. Elsa knows that whatever her cousin and Eugene must be planning has got to be dubious at best and downright sketchy at worst. However, she can tell that Anna is not comfortable sitting here.

"It's okay to be a little selfish sometimes," she mutters close to her ear. "If you want to walk out of here, I'll be walking right next to you."

Anna gazes at her, nods thoughtfully and glances around the table; looking but not seeing. Elsa can tell by the way she doesn't even giggle when Kristoff goes to put a garlic roll in his mouth and somehow drops it, making a face that is pure petulance.

Minutes go by and Elsa can't postpone using the restroom anymore. She lets this know directly to Anna before she makes a signal to the rest of the group.

She goes to the restroom wondering just what on earth Rapunzel and Eugene could be plotting right under everyone's noses.

When she steps out of the stall, Anna's mother is entering the bathroom. Elsa pauses on her way over to the sink, gives her a polite smile that is barely reciprocated, and continues walking. It is when she begins washing her hands that a sensation of unease looms, for the woman doesn't move towards the empty stalls but towards where she stands.

"I wanted to speak with you," Elizabeth says. It carries no bite but the statement is firm. It leaves no room for objection, which makes Elsa think that she must be ruthless as a lawyer.

"Mrs. Summers, I—"

"Look, Elsa," she softens slightly, taking a step closer. "I'm not here to argue, or to condemn you for that matter."

"I didn't think you were here to argue—"

"Please, just... let me finish." Elizabeth steps closer once more, enough to place her hand on top of the marble counter. "I'm sure you know already that Anna has told us... many things that have made me realize just how much we've failed her as parents. She has changed a lot since she moved here. Some aspects are... good... I mean, she has certainly improved. But others..." She sighs, gathering her thoughts. "I still don't condone your relationship. Don't take it personal. I'm sure you're a nice, young lady. But Anna has set her own goals pretty high. We can both agree at least on that. To have someone distract her from it can be a crucial mistake, and I don't want her to look back on her life and realize this when it is too late."

Elsa regards her for a prolonged, silent moment. She sees the hard-set eyes behind her glasses; the tight-lipped mouth that can only hide so much distress; the stiff, defying posture of her shoulders. All of this combined with her words make Elsa realize that she must be speaking from experience. This she can come to understand. Yet, Elsa knows better than to lower her head in defeat and accept a presage that is based on a life that is not Anna's.

"Mrs. Summers," she begins, "I hope you may forgive me in time for what I'm about to say, but I also hope that this, you do take personal. You don't know your daughter." Elizabeth is taken aback but Elsa isn't deterred. "And frankly you don't know what she's capable of, either. You don't seem to know her talent nor her ambition, and you don't know how tightly she will hold onto the things that make her happy. _Writing_ makes her happy... We can both agree at least on that, right? And for the record, you're _very_ mistaken if you think that I would ever be willing to be an obstacle in your daughter's future. It may be hard for you to accept this, but I care about Anna more than you could probably ever imagine, and for as long as she allows me to be in her life, I will do everything in my power to ensure that she can make her dreams come true."

Elizabeth is shaking her head in disbelief. "How do you sound so sure when you've known her for a few months at the most?"

She smiles sadly at her. "Because I've spent hours and days getting to know everything I can about her. That is why it's so easy for me to tell you that I'm in love with your daughter, whether you condone it or not... Anna's mind is a wonderful thing, Mrs. Summers, but you've spent very little time trying to discover it."

The woman closes her eyes and, for the first time since Elsa has met her, the facade breaks to reveal exhaustion and weariness. Elsa sees decades of hard-work, of clawing her way to the top. It mustn't have been easy, she figures, and she knows then, with sympathy laced in her thoughts, that Anna's mother is just a person whose opinions have been shaped by the circumstances of her own life.

"I would never wish to insult you, much less disrespect you," says Elsa. "But I do hope that whatever Anna has chosen to tell you guys stays with you long enough that you realize how much you've missed out on." Elsa watches her sigh but the look of defeat gives her no satisfaction. She wishes more than anything that this conversation didn't have to happen at all. "I'm daring to speak for Anna here, but it's never too late, Mrs. Summers. Just... don't waste any more time."

She walks out solemnly after this, with her head down and without taking a second look at Anna's mother. Elsa has nothing else to say.

When she comes back from the restroom the party she's left only minutes ago is wreaking havoc. At the center of it all is— unsurprisingly—Rapunzel. Anna and Eugene are standing by each side of her chair, comforting her. Elsa takes the last few steps in a hurry.

"What happened?"

Anna turns to look at her, wide-eyed. "I don't know, we were just talking and all of the sudden she started panting—"

"Oh my sweet clapping Jesus _,_ " Rapunzel says, nestling her head in her hands.

"She's having a crisis," Eugene sates.

Elsa stares at him. _Of all things, a goddamn crisis._

"What's going on?" Anna's mother asks as she joins the table.

"She's having a... crisis," Eugene's father responds.

Rapunzel is shaking off her hands, clawing at her chest, panting and mumbling random words. Elsa stares at her in disbelief and mildly disturbed. What a performance.

"Is she going to be okay?"

"She will be," Eugene states. He sounds like a preacher. "All we gotta do is take her home and sing Kumbaya. Right, darling?"

_Oh Christ._

The brunette nods.

Her boyfriend then turns to Elsa, Anna and Kristoff. "We're gonna need you guys to join us, you know how this goes, right?"

No they do not. Elsa has not a clue but of course, she nods. Anna is glancing at her confused and guilty, and Kristoff is lost and panicky himself, holding onto a garlic roll as if he were the one having the crisis and that piece of dough were his lifeline.

"Do you need us to come with you?" His mother asks genuinely worried. A pang of guilt hits Elsa.

"No, no, no. It's, uh, a youth thing."

"Oh my Barbara Streisand, I can't breathe," Rapunzel moans again, covering her face with her hands.

"Right, I think we should get going."

Elsa doesn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of this ordeal or simply cry of relief because everyone's parents are standing up, serious and concerned, ready to let the youth go back home and sing Kumbaya so that the girl who's now muttering about a holy cheese on a stick doesn't have a total meltdown in the middle of the restaurant. Eugene is hard set on taking care of his now frail girlfriend, Elsa is gathering everyone's belongings and Anna is by the other side of the table speaking lowly to her parents and giving them both a brief, parting hug. Kristoff is even more clueless than Eugene's parents have been this whole afternoon and more confused than the waiter who's just arrived to take their orders, but he follows the rest of the youth, no questions asked.

Standing outside Elsa waves at Anna's parents and tells them it was nice to finally meet them. It is all so precipitated, so hasty and awkward that she is sure to smother Rapunzel for this—before or after thanking her, she's not sure yet—.

Eugene stops a taxicab with the brunette holding onto him for dear life. If he told the driver that his girlfriend was giving birth and needs a ride _right now_ , Elsa wouldn't even bat an eye, but all he asks is: "Can you fit five of us in there?"

In a low and thick Russian accent that reminds her of a mafioso, he says: "If you tip well, I take you."

So they all chip in. They make Elsa take shotgun for being the eldest—an idiotic argument—and the rest of the group climbs like sardines in the back. Elsa still can't believe what just happened, nor their luck at that. Of course, Rapunzel stops with her shenanigans as soon as the car starts away from the sidewalk. The blonde is too embarrassed to even look back and see whether the real adults have left so she stares forward, waiting for one of them to break the silence.

Eventually, Anna does.

"I'm hungry."

Elsa cranes her neck to look at Anna and sees Kristoff pull out a bundled up napkin out of the pocket of his pants, slowly tugging at the corners to reveal a single garlic roll. Silently, he offers it to Anna. The girl takes it, Eugene snorts and Rapunzel does, too. Anna begins to giggle and Kristoff grins. Elsa looks at the ridiculous lot of them, a laugh bubbling in her throat.

Soon enough, they all join her.

* * *

After dropping gowns and diplomas at Elsa's apartment they end up on the Lower East Side, at a speakeasy bar that looks like a hole in the wall from the outside but plays 90's rock, has two pool tables and a full service bar on the inside.

They cheer to the graduates as soon as they get their hands each on an alcoholic beverage. No one asks Anna any questions she is not ready to answer but their support is palpable as they all take turns to cheer her up. Elsa sits by her side, drawing smiles out of her in ways only she knows while she sips her white wine slowly, conscious now that she's the eldest of the group and accepting a responsibility that nobody assigned but one she can't help assuming. Besides, at the pace everyone is going, _somebody_ has to stay sober.

Between the second and third round, the girls manage to find some time alone as they sit by the bar, waiting to be tended. Their priorities are not set on buying drinks, however, but on each other. At this point Anna has started to remove what little boundaries she has in public around Elsa.

"Finally alone," she wiggles her eyebrows as she wraps her arm around the blonde's waist.

Elsa grins. "Far from it. Keep your hands where I can see them."

"You're no fun."

"We both know that's not true," she says before placing her hand behind Anna's neck and pulling her in for a slow and deep kiss. Elsa lets herself be pulled closer to Anna's body, relishing the warmth that engulfs her for a few sweet seconds.

After a last peck, she finally asks her, "How are you?"

Anna puts her elbow on top of the bar to prop her chin up as she contemplates her answer. "I'm rather torn between liberated and anxious," she says, "though more relieved than anything else because I've _finally_ said it, you know? I don't have to pretend like I'm okay all the time and I also don't have to pretend like it doesn't affect me that they've spent years barely making an effort... Am I rambling? I'm sorry if I am... it's just that I feel so much... _lighter_. I don't know what their reactions will be but they can't be bad can they?"

Elsa shakes her head slowly. "They have no reason to be upset at your honesty."

"Exactly my thought ," Anna agrees easily. "But also, I _am_ upset. Especially at my mom because she's acting like you're gonna be my downfall or something."

The bartender approaches them and asks what the ladies want. They order a glass of pinot grigio for Elsa and a mojito for Anna. "Coming up," the bartender exclaims.

"We spoke," she tells Anna when he leaves.

Realization dawns on her. "When you went to the restroom."

Elsa nods.

"What did she say? Oh God please don't tell me she yelled at you or I'm gonna be so mad."

"She didn't," she reassures her. "But she said... that she couldn't condone our relationship because she doesn't want you to be distracted from your goals and regret it when it's too late."

Anna stares into space for a few seconds, processing this. 

"That doesn't make any sense."

"She may have her reasons," Elsa tries.

"But still. If there's anyone in my life who would do the opposite of that is you."

The bartender comes back with their drinks and asks if they want the tab open or closed. Closed, they say, and pay.

Elsa turns to look at Anna. "How are you so sure?" She asks her with genuine curiosity.

" _Because_ ," she flares up. "Elsa, I've never felt this way before. I've never felt so sure about anyone, ever. I can feel it in my heart, and I know that one way or another you'll be there for me no matter what."

Anna doesn't wait for the blonde to open up her arms, she throws her own around Elsa's shoulders and holds on tight. "You inspire me to be better, Elsa. There's no way in hell my mother could ever be right."

Elsa tightens her arms around the girl's waist as she closes her eyes. This moment feels like a promise; one she silently makes to Anna and to herself, to never be the reason that could hold her girlfriend back.

"She's not," she whispers in her ear.

An hour goes by. Another round of drinks, and a third and last wine for Elsa goes, too. The spirits have lifted, the music has been turned up, and the conversations all around them have become a raucous mess. The night has fully begun for New Yorkers who can almost taste the weekend that draws nigh.

"Kristoff! Wasn't your girlfriend supposed to come today?"

"The quirky one?" Rapunzel asks.

"Is there more than one?" Elsa teases.

Another round. The last one, she makes Anna promise. If the redhead is talkative when sober, she is a verbose, word-spitting fireball when drunk. Or—she insists—only mildly buzzed. She keeps trying to explain to Rapunzel why Hercule Poirot is so much better than Holmes but the brunette is having none of it because she has never read an Agatha Christie novel and the only Holmes she can recall at the moment is Katie.

Anna gives up at some point. She asks Elsa if she can get another drink, "Pretty please?" She pouts and bats her lashes, but as hard as it is to refuse her, Elsa does. She wavers, though, and tells her that if she wants to get another drink she's gonna have to drink a glass of water first.

"Fine."

Elsa tells her to sit tight before she gets up, pushes through the crowd, takes more time than should be necessary to get a single glass of water and returns. It all takes her fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes in which Anna has vanished.

"Where's Anna?" She asks the group.

"Bathroom," Rapunzel tells her over the noise of the bar.

Reluctant, Elsa takes her seat. She refrains herself from going to see if Anna is okay because she doesn't want her to feel like Elsa is babying her. She looked well enough to go by herself. Drunk and a bit clumsy but well enough that she won't fall face first on her way there. Still, if she doesn't come back in a few minutes Elsa will go check in on her.

Five minutes go by, then six, then seven. The glass of water is starting to sweat, forming droplets over its surface and a ring of water underneath. Elsa gets up, announces that she'll be right back and heads for the restroom.

There are two girls standing in line outside of the bathroom. They look impatient. The first one in line tells her that it's been _forever_ and that she's _peeing_ herself. What is that chick doing in there anyway? She's probably passed out, the other one says. Elsa's panic flares up and swells inside her chest. She bangs the door twice with her fist and calls out Anna's name. There is a voice coming from the other side but it is so distorted by the noises of the bar and the door standing in between that Elsa isn't sure what to make of it.

"Anna sweetheart, let me in." She knocks again, softer.

The door flings open and to Elsa's dreadful surprise, it isn't Anna. The girl sneers at her, drunk out of her mind: "Fuck off dude," she slurs. Elsa swallows the apology she was about to mutter. She turns around and walks to the men's room. The door is closed but unlocked. There is no one inside.

There's panic tightening around her throat at this point. She walks around the bar and goes as far as approaching two groups with redheads in them. None of them are Anna. Deep down, Elsa knew this. She goes to tell her friends that Anna has left—"Where?" Eugene asks—"I don't _know_." She takes her clutch and pulls out her phone as Kristoff stands up and starts heading for the exit. Elsa stops him and tells him that it's better if they stay here in case Anna returns from wherever the hell she is right now.

She couldn't have gone far, she thinks as she exits the crowded bar.

She calls Anna and it rings until she hits the voicemail. Elsa doesn't bother with leaving a message. She scans the streets from the corner closest to the bar, her heart pounding hard. She's okay, she tells herself. She probably just got hungry (I'm gonna kill her when I find her) _._

She calls again and this time it rings three times before Anna picks up.

"Hello?"

Instant relief.

"Anna! Where on earth are you!?"

There's a pause, some shuffling, then Anna answers: "I'm in a park."

"What park? Can you tell me?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Cause I dunno the name," she says as though it were obvious. "I just got here."

Elsa's hand goes up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Okay... Tell me what you see around you. What's in front of the park, can you check?"

"I passed a Deen Reed," Anna mumbles.

"A Deen—you mean a _Duane_ Reade?"

"Yah, that's what I said."

Elsa exhales her frustration through her nose. Keep it simple. She looks to the left and to the right. There's nothing down the street but she recalls having passed a pharmacy on their way here. She starts walking up north. "Okay, what else is around you? What's in front of you?"

"A bench with two guys sittin' on it. They keep lookin' at me."

That doesn't help. It doesn't help one bit. 

"A store, baby," she almost begs. "What's the store across from the park?"

"Papaya King," Anna states. As if Elsa should have known all this time.

"Okay, don't hang up. I'm coming for you."

She hears a _Yay_ coming from the speaker as she pulls the phone away from her ear to open the maps app. She types Papaya in the search bar and finds one a block up and to the right, next to a Duane Reade (how the hell did Anna get there so fast?) and a park across from it.

Her long legs take her to the park in five minutes. When she walks through the gates she sees two men sitting on a bench, talking closely together and glancing at the person across from them. The person is Anna, and relief washes over her when Elsa sees that although drunk, she is perfectly fine munching on a hot dog, lost in her thoughts. There's a jumbo size drink next to her that Elsa sets aside as she takes its place, keeping herself from tackling the redhead with a hug.

Anna's face splits into a chipmunk's smile when she sees her and gives Elsa her cheek to kiss. Elsa looks over at the two men who are now openly staring at them. She holds their gazes with cold, unwavering eyes, until one of them pats at the chest of the other and stands up to go.

A shaky breath escapes her as she watches them leave before she turns to look at the girl who's too busy finishing her hot dog to care.

"Anna, what happened? Why did you leave?"

"I got hungry."

"They had food at the bar."

"Oh." She looks down at the last of her hot dog and her face suddenly scrunches up into a pout.

"What's wrong?"

"I wanted a sandwich."

Elsa stares at her. The girl is dead serious for a second before she shoves the last piece inside her mouth, unaffected.

"Coke?" She asks through a mouthful.

"No, thanks."

Elsa lets her finish in silence. When Anna is done she takes the napkin that was on her lap and cleans herself off. It's sloppy, but it does the job.

"You scared me, Anna," Elsa tells her after a while.

Blue, glassy eyes turn to look at her. "Why?"

"Because you left without telling anyone?"

"I'm sorry," Anna pouts.

"Just promise me that you'll never do that again. Something could have happened to you. If you want to leave just tell me. I'll follow you anywhere, you know that."

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

"To the ends of the world?"

"Yes."

"To infinity and beyond?"

Elsa smiles tenderly despite herself. The heart answers for her, "Always."

Anna is satisfied with the answer and gives her a sloppy kiss. She tastes like mustard and relish. Elsa scrunches up her nose.

"Can I tell you a secret?" The redhead asks.

"Of course."

"I don't think my parents are happy together anymore."

Elsa recalls the conversation they had last night, about how Anna had perceived her parent's behavior around each other. "Why do you say that?"

"Cause I saw it when we—" a burp— "had dinner. It was so obvious."

"Perhaps they're going through a rough patch," she says.

"Maybe," Anna shrugs, her current state unable to process much else. "Can I tell you another secret?"

"Yes."

"It felt really good tellin' them all that today."

"I bet it did, sweetheart." Elsa smiles at her. She takes her hand—the one that isn't holding the napkin—and squeezes it.

Anna stares openly at her. The blonde still wants to reprimand her for having disappeared in a matter of minutes but she can't bring herself to do that just yet. She's lost in those big, blue eyes of hers.

"I love you, Elsa."

"I love you too, Anna."

"No but seriously," she leans closer, demanding that Elsa holds her gaze. "I want you to promise me somethin' right here, right now. If you're ever not happy, you gotta tell me so that I can let you go."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going."

"Just promise."

"I promise."

"Same thing the other way..." Elsa gives her an inquiring look. "If I'm ever not happy, you gotta let me go."

"Why are you saying all this?"

"Cause I don't want us to spend years of our lives not bein' happy and then break up anyway."

Elsa regards her for many seconds. Will she remember this conversation tomorrow?

"This is a rather odd conversation to have right now, don't you think?"

Anna shakes her head. "It's the perfect time. We're alone."

"But you're drunk."

"Buzzed."

"Tomato, tomahto," she teases.

"Be serious."

"I _am_ being serious, Anna. I promise you right here, right now, that I will let you go if you're ever unhappy. Your happiness means everything to me. And so does your safety, so stop disappearing when you're half drunk."

" _Fine._ "

Elsa stands up and offers her hand to the redhead.

"Where we going?"

She grins. Anna will have a killer hangover tomorrow and that will be more than enough punishment for tonight's scare. What matters to Elsa is that she is here, safe; with her tummy full of food and her heart full of promises. It is time to call it a night.

"We're going home, my lovely princess."


	17. New beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this but haven't read chapter 16... whatchu waiting for?! This is the shortest chapter of the story so far but not the least important.

Anna keeps wondering what it is with her parents and hotel restaurants.

While she climbs the stairs and exits the subway station, Anna recalls her mother visiting last year and suggesting that they have lunch at the restaurant of the hotel she was staying at. Perhaps it is that travel is part of their job and nothing comes in more handy than a quick meal at a place you just have to take an elevator down for. Perhaps it is that they've never let Anna choose the spot—it's not like she would choose a kebab food truck rated B by the health department—. Or perhaps it just is that their interest for exploring and experiencing new things falls at minus two on Anna's own scale.

Whatever the reason, today's place, which is three blocks away from their own hotel, has at least a more casual setting. Its floor-to-ceiling windows also keep the restaurant from feeling too oppressive, although Anna attributes her not feeling out of place to the fact that she's not carrying her backpack this time.

She finds her parents sitting near the entrance. They have already started on some coffee and they offer her some after she greets them both with a brief albeit familiar hug.

As they sit, her father asks, "How are you feeling today?"

Anna looks on, confused. "Me? Good, why?"

He regards her curiously. "You said you had a pretty bad stomachache yesterday, remember?" Anna can tell by the tone of his voice that he knows more than he's letting in on. Even her mother is looking at her amusedly, her lips pursed to hide a small smile.

She then remembers that they had called her yesterday morning before she had to go to work and endure the longest six hours of her life. She had told them that she had a stomachache—not far from the truth—and would not be able to meet them afterwards. In reality, she was hungover beyond relief and all she wanted to do was go home and crawl under the bed to never see the light of day again. Hide from everyone while she was at it. Mourn her own shitty decisions. This suddenly makes her think of _The Metamorphosis_. What was that poor guy's name? It was a foreign name but all she can remember is that it started with a G. She thinks of cupping her hands around her mouth, raising her voice, and asking the room _WHO HERE HAS READ THE METAMORPHOSIS?_

Instead she smiles sheepishly at her parents and tells them, "I'm feeling much better today." Was it Gerard? _No._ "How are you guys?"

Graham? _Absolutely not._

"We're doing well," her mother replies. Her teasing smile gone and replaced by her usual, solemn expression.

"What did you end up doing yesterday?" _Gregory... Gregor! Greeegor Samsa!_

She smiles a little at this absurdity. 

"We stayed at the hotel for the most part," her father says. "Then we had to compromise so we walked over to the MoMA because the Met would have taken us all day..."

"And then we walked around the park," her mother finishes.

"That's nice." And odd, she thinks, not missing the fact that her parents—a couple married for twenty-two years—walking hand in hand through the paths of Central Park appears to be a rather foreign concept to her. It makes her sad.

There is a pregnant pause that is broken by the waitress and is once again renewed when she leaves with their orders. Anna reaches inside the pocket of her jeans, searching for the tiny squeezable heart Elsa had given her that morning. "That way you don't harm those pretty lips of yours," she had told her. Anna pulls it out and squeezes it hard.

"Anna," her father says. "Your mother and I... we want—no, we _must_ apologize to you."

Anna sits, waiting. Under the table, her hands are fiddling distractedly with the squishy heart.

"What you said to us after graduation," he continues, "it revealed more than we may have wanted to admit to ourselves. We haven't been the best support, and we haven't been the most present at times. You've been placed as second when you should have come first, and for that we're truly sorry."

Anna gives a weak nod as she takes his words in. She feels so small sitting here before her parents; back to being a child.

"We're sorry if we ever made you feel like you were not enough, honey" her mother adds; her words quiet and passive. "You know we love you, don't you?"

Anna nods again, even if the question doesn't fully reach her heart. It sounds like a weak reminder. One she's heard before but has rarely ever felt.

"I love you guys, too," she mutters.

"We'll do better from now on," her father reassures her. "I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to us."

She breathes deeply before she takes a sip of water. She had known this conversation would happen. She had expected it; _waited_ for it. In reality, she had rehearsed it time and again in her mind since she exited that taxi almost two days ago until this moment. She figured her parents would apologize, perhaps even promise her what they do now. But Theo had told her once that this was no magic wand and she was right. Anna couldn't just flip a switch on her emotions. She couldn't go from experiencing an affection marred with insecurities to establishing a closely bonded relationship with them.

"You guys do realize that it's not gonna be so easy, right? As much as I wish it were..."

"What do you mean?" Her mother asks.

Anna glances down at the heart she keeps squeezing every time it goes back to its regular shape. She thinks of the conversation she had with Elsa the day before as she went through the details of what her mother had said, and particularly of Elsa's response thereafter.

"I mean that I can't just pretend like the last twenty years of my life didn't happen. I want to be able to talk to you guys about everything, and I will... in time. But I can't just give you a list of the things you've missed out on, call it a day and move forward. There's so many things you don't know about me, like... I don't know, who was my least favorite professor this semester?"

It is not a rhetorical question and her parents know this. Yet, they remain silent, unable to answer it. She feels a pang of sadness at this.

"It was Mr. Hayes," she says dejectedly, aware that they won't know either what Mr. Hayes taught. Something else occurs to her then, as she delves into this foreseen realization. "You know who does know this?"

She searches for her mother's brown eyes as she answers once more for them. "Elsa knows this. And so many other things you probably wouldn't even think of asking."

"Don't you think it's a little unfair to compare your own parents with your girlfriend?"

Anna is taken aback. An apology sits at the tip of her tongue but she refrains from letting it out. "That may be true. But I also think it's unfair to know your daughter less than her girlfriend does."

"Sweetheart, we're trying here," her father pleads.

"Okay, sorry," she rushes out, more apologetic than she feels. "Look, all I need you guys to know is that the reason why Elsa knows so much about me, no matter how long it's been, is because she's made me feel like I can tell her anything. She means a lot to me, and I know that you may be scared about whether this relationship will be an obstacle in my future or whatever, but it won't. Elsa is very mature, you know? And it's not just because she's twenty-four and all that but because she's smart and selfless, and she believes in me. So, mom, _please_ have some faith. You too, dad. Have some faith in me and just... _be_ there. All I ask is for you guys to be there for me."

Her parents stay silent until the waitress arrives with their food. They all glance at her enough to give her a grateful smile. Anna looks down at her pancakes before she tucks the squishy heart back inside her pocket. She must give it a name, she muses. Elsa will laugh. Why must you give a name to everything? She'll ask, her eyes bright and amused. Always amused at Anna.

Amidst the silence, she smiles.

"Honey," her mother begins, neglecting the food in front of her for the time being. "This is your life. No matter the advice we may give you, in the end it'll be your decision. Frankly, I don't want us to part in bad terms, so let's not fight over this anymore, okay?"

Anna regards her for a few seconds wondering if this is as far as she will go in the acceptance of her defeat. Although, she thinks, is it really defeat if she is only saying the words that will acquit her from fault if Anna ever fails? Maybe she's overthinking it at this point. 

Maybe this is at last an act of closure, and if so, let it be a denouement. Anna will take it.

"Okay," she says.

Her father reaches across the table for her hand and after a beat, so does her mom.

Humans are complicated creatures. No emotion can ever be singled out, no thought ever fully explained. But despite being unique, their search for forgiveness is universal. It manifests itself both in words and in silence; soon enough, or after years of nursing an ego too big to fit an apology. It's shown in the way a person hugs their lover; in the way a stranger apologizes to another; in the way a parent holds onto their child's hand. Forgiveness is easy to look for yet hard to find, but for Anna, forgiveness is granted the moment it is asked for. Whether this is a curse or a virtue, she may never find out, but right here, right now, Anna forgives. She forgives knowing it is not an erasure of the past but rather the prospect of a new beginning.

"So..." Her father begins after a final squeeze of her hand. "Your mother here may be weary but I know she's also curious, so I must ask... How did you two meet?"

Her mother closes her eyes almost tiredly but the faint smile doesn't go unnoticed by Anna. It gives her a sliver of hope.

"Well, it all started at Kristoff's birthday party last year..."

* * *

The day carries a perfect afternoon breeze.

A few blocks east from Castle Senior Center, a park is engulfed in serenity. A few people are out walking their dogs, throwing balls, watching as their four-legged friends wag their tails and run incessantly after their favorite toy. A few kids meet each other for the first time over at the playground, become immediate playmates, and pretend to go on an adventure only they can see. Under a tree, two girls sit, indulging in the company of each other, relishing the present.

Their visit at the Center had been brief compared to other days. It had also been more of a communal thing. It may have been that the occasion had called for it. It may have also been that the first day of Pride month was finally here and everyone was in a contagious, joyful mood.

Theo had been wearing a parade of colors that day. Louie, with is rainbow bow tie on, had told the girls that his grandson was married to a wonderful young man and that they were expecting to have their first kid soon. "I'm going to be a great grandpa," he had told them proud, with his hands shaky and his eyes shining with youthful illusions. He told them how he had taken a trip to the city (and grumbled about having to go with a nurse) to buy the full collection of Mozart's sonatas, and that he would make sure to introduce him or her to the genius of Beethoven. Sergei had intervened at that point, reminding Louie that today he must listen to Tchaikovsky. "Why?" He'd asked him. "Because he was a gay composer, you silly dedushka!" Greta, with a big fake-toothed grin, had been wearing a handful of multi-colored beads around her neck. Did she get them at a Mardi Gras during her days as a brothel-owner in New Orleans? Did she get them at a Pride Parade? No one will ever know (she doesn't remember) but Anna was happy to live with the possibilities that her imagination summoned.

They gushed at all the graduation pictures Anna and Elsa showed them on their phones before the girls sat down with Theo and caught up on the latest news. Their conversation was lighthearted even when they discussed Anna's parents. Theo had told them that her medical check up was overdue but promised them that she would get around to it soon. They discussed London, Elsa's prep week in July and their upcoming trip to Upstate New York. It would be a busy summer for them, Theo had said approvingly, "Y'all gotta make the best of it!"

They left soon after, hugging everyone as they went and opting out of going straight back to Manhattan to spend some time outside in this warm June weather. Anna had brought her journal and a book, and Elsa had brought along what she called her leisure book because, she explained, most of the time she was reading two. One medical and one for leisure. Indeed, too smart for her own good.

"What'cha reading this time?" Anna asks as she settles her head on top of Elsa's thigh.

Elsa shows her the cover. _Love in the Time of Cholera._

Anna gasps. "I haven't read that one yet."

Upside down, she sees Elsa bring an indignant hand to her chest. "How _dare_ you?"

"I know! Don't judge me. I read _A Hundred Years of Solitude_ , though."

"I haven't read it."

Anna narrows her eyes and mimicking her girlfriend's gesture she says, "How _dare_ you." 

Elsa laughs. Goodness that laugh. Soft and airy. Her blue eyes shining with amusement and affection. Anna can feel her heart soar every time Elsa laughs like this.

"If you have it we can do a book exchange once I'm done with this one."

Anna lifts her hand up for a handshake not really knowing how that would be possible given her position. The blonde just grabs it, brings it to her lips and kisses it.

They soon settle into a comfortable silence that is occasionally filled with a dog's bark and the distant cries of happy children. Anna has pulled out her journal and a pen, but keeps having her focus shifted to the sensation of Elsa's fingers weaving through her hair. She sighs contentedly and closes her eyes for a minute. The breeze caresses the skin of her face; the leaves of the trees dance with the air. If Anna could freeze a moment in time it would be this, and although she knows this is impossible, she has something to her advantage.

Her words.

Anna writes, pauses to think, bring back this sensation, then writes again. She writes it for the person playing with her hair, for the one with the airy laugh and bright blue eyes that has captured her heart and will forever refuse to let it go.

When she finishes she sits up. Looking at Elsa, she tells her: "I wrote you a thing."

Elsa tilts her head, smiles and accepts the page Anna has ripped off her journal. She doesn't read it until the redhead has settled next to her.

Her cellphone chimes with a notification but she ignores it. She peeks at the piece of paper as Elsa reads the words in silence.

_You came into my life the same way that sunlight seeps through the canopy of a tree._

_You brought along the same comfort;_

_the same warmth;_

_the same smile_

_that I give out at the small joys of the universe._

_Having you in my life has slowly started to feel like I'm collecting the most important memories all in one place._

_While I keep finding you at the center of them,_

_holding my hand,_

_standing right next to me._

_I've seen you many times before_

_in my dreams,_

_wearing different masks_

_and different names._

_But in all,_

_I feel the same:_

_This inexplicability,_

_this unfathomable sensation of being right in the arms_

_of the person meant for me._

_June 1st, 2020._

_Anna._

Elsa keeps reading these words over and over, until she takes her eyes off the paper and looks at her with bottomless affection. Once again, Anna wishes to conjure the power to freeze this moment forever.

"Is this really how you feel?"

"It's just a tiny bit of how I feel."

Her girlfriend's hand lifts up to ruffle her bangs. "How did I get so lucky with you?"

"We both did in that case," she grins.

Elsa observes her with such an intensity that makes Anna think she must be trying to do the same as her: engraving this moment in her memory forever.

"So you liked it?"

The blonde hugs her tightly. "I love it. I _love_ you," she whispers.

Elsa kisses her then, deeply and without impediment, as if she wanted to convey in this sole gesture what she cannot translate into words. Anna feels it in the way the blonde's hand goes to rest behind her neck, in the pressure of her lips against her own. The sensation sweeps her away as she savors the first of Elsa's tongue and she soars when the girl sighs into her mouth.

Let this feeling last forever, she hopes.

Let happiness last a lifetime.

* * *

That phone chime signified a job interview. A full service literary agency based in Los Angeles had recently opened a new office in New York. They were seeking an assistant to a talent agent. 1-2 years of experience were preferred, although not required. A strong interest in the craft of writing was necessary, as well as a desire to learn and develop in such environment. Anna's intuition told her that this could be it. It was nothing but a hunch, but a strong one at that. Still, it didn't stop her from feeling like a complete mess.

"Breathe, Anna," Elsa tells her for the sixth time that morning.

"But I can't find my bra!"

"It's right _here_."

"Oh God thank you."

"Did you print your resume?"

"Yes."

"Did you iron that shirt?"

"I had to."

"Good. Did you brush your teeth?"

"Ah fuck."

Anna runs back to the bathroom as she puts her shirt on and starts buttoning it up. Elsa follows her at her own unhurried pace and leans on the door frame as she watches the redhead begin to brush her teeth.

"I hunhed i heet wron."

"I have no idea what you just said."

She spits out the toothpaste's foam. "I buttoned my shirt wrong."

Elsa chuckles. When Anna is done rinsing her mouth she steps inside and takes hold of Anna's shirt. It's all crooked because she missed the first button. The blonde undoes the whole thing and starts again.

"It's gonna be okay, sweetheart," she tells her as she buttons the shirt from top to bottom. Anna stays where she is, breathing in and out, letting her girlfriend pass on a bit of her own calmness to her. "You just gotta be yourself. You're smart, and creative and very, very talented. Plus, you have all the qualities an agent would want to have in their assistant."

"I do?"

Elsa places her hands on her shoulders. It's pep talk time. "You're outgoing and talkative but not too talkative that you'll drive them nuts. You're also very dependable and responsible. Plus, this could be a great opportunity for you. You'll have your foot in the door and who knows, maybe this same agency could represent you one day."

"Right."

"You can do this, baby."

"I can do this," she nods repetitively.

She can do this, she chants like a mantra from the moment she steps out of her apartment to the moment she arrives at the building on 39th street.

Hoffman & Co. Literary Agency is engraved on a plate next to the number 1004. Anna signs herself in at the front desk, enters the elevator and presses 10. As it goes up she checks her phone and smiles when she sees a couple of texts from her parents wishing her success. They're brief, and the smiley emoji on her dad's text and the flower one in her mom's look rather out of place with their characters but that will do. There's also a good luck text coming from Elsa, very much out of character as well with all those exclamation points and capital letters. It makes Anna chuckle. She doesn't have the time to reply, however, because she arrives a few seconds later.

She walks down the empty hallway until she arrives at the door of suite 1004. Inside and to the right, a woman sits behind the front desk, lifts her head up and gives her a cordial smile.

"Hello."

"Hi," says Anna as she approaches. "My name is Anna Summers. I'm here for an interview."

"Are you a writer or an applicant?"

Both! She wants to exclaim. "An applicant."

Another cordial smile. "Take a seat, Miss Summers. Give me a few minutes, we'll call you right over."

Anna goes to take a seat on a leather sofa that almost plunges her straight to the floor. She could fall asleep right here if given enough time. As she waits she looks around the space. To her left there is a small conference room, with glass instead of a wall where a large, oval table is surrounded by La-Z-Boys that look as comfy as the couch she's sitting on. On the coffee table in front of her there are a few, arranged magazines from _The New Yorker_ and a glass vase with a real (she checks) orchid. On the wall to her right hang posters of book covers that Anna figures must have been written by authors represented by this agency. She spends the last few seconds of waiting picturing her own work hanging on that wall.

A woman who couldn't possibly be past her forties (but most certainly is) walks by the front desk. When Anna sees her approaching her she stands up, flashing her a smile she's been rehearsing since that morning.

"Miss Summers?"

"Hi! That's me." She accepts the extended hand. _Make sure your handshake is firm, love._ That's what Elsa had told her. She hopes she's done it right.

"Nice meeting you," the woman says. She guides her down the hallway and to the right, past a few occupied offices that Anna can only glance at. The office she then enters gives her the impression of having been curated by a minimalist junkie. The walls are bare. The desk is just a desk. There's nothing on it but a few loose papers and a laptop. There's no furniture either and although that is somehow disconcerting Anna has no time to run anymore.

"I hope you may pardon the look of this office," the woman says as she signals for Anna to take a seat across from her. "It belongs to Mr. Zimmerman but he has yet to arrive from LA. He's actually the one looking for an assistant but given that he's still caught up in some business he's asked me to do the first round of interviews. The reason why I chose to do this here is because it lacks distractions," she says through a grin. It comes easily and Anna finds herself relaxing a bit. So it's not an escape room. Gotcha.

"I'm sorry, I've skipped the introduction haven't I? I'm Lauren Hoffman."

"Hoffman? Are you...?"

"That's my father, but yes. He owns this agency."

Anna hopes she doesn't look as intimidated and impressed as she feels.

"Now, before we start," Hoffman continues, "I feel like I must ask you a few personal things. Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course," she responds, steeling herself.

The woman leans back on her chair, relaxed and exuding a confidence that is natural rather than pretended.

"What is the real reason behind you applying for this job?"

A fair question, she thinks. Anna wasn't prepared for it, but the answer is one she doesn't have to look hard for. "Because I write, Mrs. Hoffman. And I believe that by working at a literary agency, even if it's as an assistant, can eventually give me the chance to forge my own path."

"I see..." She rocks on the chair a few times, holding Anna's gaze in what feels like a test. "And what makes you think you're talented enough to earn an agent?"

Anna wonders how a question as blunt as this one could sound so simple and genuinely curious. It carries no venom behind it but Anna still feels the need to hold her head up high.

"I don't think so. I know it." She really hopes this doesn't end up biting her in the ass. "I know writers abound in this city. Most of them are talented without a doubt but I also believe that to make it, talent needs resilience and that is something I have as well." She'll be laughing at her feigned confidence later today but right now she'll hold onto it like a lifeline.

An impressed smile graces the woman's features. "You do know it won't be that easy, right?"

"I do, but it won't keep me from trying."

Hoffman says no more on the subject. She appears to be satisfied. "Do you have a resume, Miss Summers?"

As the interview unfolds they go on discussing matters pertaining to every job interview: the qualifications, the job description, the reasons why Anna thinks she would be a good candidate for this position. The more they talk, the more comfortable Anna feels, and the more confident she is in her answers. At some point she even makes Hoffman laugh, which earns her some points in her books.

"I like you, Miss Summers," she tells her near the end. "If you were to be my assistant I may have hired you on the spot, but let that stay within these walls. In the end, this will be Zimmerman's decision."

"Thank you," she says. "You may call me Anna if you'd like."

"We'll see," Lauren smirks. "If I have to see more of you, I may do so."

They part soon after this with another handshake. Lauren tells her that they'll be reviewing a few more candidates but to expect a phone call with further details about a second interview. If Anna does enough to impress Mr. Zimmerman the job is hers.

She doesn't allow herself to do a celebratory dance until she is safe inside the walls of the elevator. She pumps her fists in the air, sways her hips, gives a Jackson little kick. She can't wait to get home and tell Elsa all about it, and perhaps even call her parents later on. That would be nice.

As the door opens to the street Anna grins. There's that good hunch again. At last, she feels like she's on a roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?
> 
> As for Anna's parents... this won't be the last we see of them of course. It'll take time for them to fix what's been done over the years.


	18. I'll give you the sun, the moon and the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my guys! I'll be brief this time so that you can get on with the reading. I thank you profoundly, each and every one of you. Those who've reviewed one or three chapters. Those who have commented on every single one with careful detail. Those of you who have not reviewed but are still reading along. I love you all.  
> Ps. There's smut in here fyi.  
> Ps#1. Thanks to Frozen Fever too for the inspo.  
> Ps#2. Not to Disney tho, y'all fucked up.

The alarm goes off at 7 a.m. on June 21st.

Elsa wakes up more easily than she fell asleep the night before and dismisses the low ringtone of her cellphone—never buzz; Anna was appalled the first time she learned this about her—before taking the first long breath of the day and stretching out as much as she can in Anna's double bed. Her mind is weary; not entirely rested. She kept buzzing with unwarranted energy last night, going over every little detail with excruciating repetitiveness, reviewing the day from start to finish. Would they be able to go through the hunt in time? Would Anna be able to guess all the riddles? Would she like the presents?

Next to her, her girlfriend remains fast asleep. Her copper hair is sticking out everywhere and her mouth is lightly agape. A tiny snore escapes her every now and then, and Elsa has to cover her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

She dares snaking her hand under Anna's tank top for the sake of feeling the girl's warm skin. Anna stirs, closes her mouth, and keeps on snoring. Baby snores, she'd call them once. Leave my baby snores alone, Elsa.

"Annaaa," she singsongs.

"Nggghh."

Elsa bites her lip and tries again. "Anna, sweetheart..."

The redhead scrunches up her nose. "Sleep," she grumbles before rolling onto her side and pulling as much of the covers as she can in the process.

Persistent, as usual. Elsa changes tactics. She spoons her, knowing that the redhead will scoot back to fit into her embrace. When she does, Elsa whispers against her cheek, "Happy birthday."

Anna smiles but her eyes remain closed.

"Happy birthday, baby," she tries with a kiss.

The girl opens one of her eyes as her smile begins to widen. "Happy biiirthdaay," she singsongs back, like a sleepy lullaby.

"To youuu," Elsa finishes. She hugs her tight, dropping feathery kisses on every part of Anna's face that she can reach.

When Anna turns to lie on her back her teal eyes finally open. They're puffy from sleep, but the happiness in them is unmistakable.

"'Tis my birthday," she mumbles.

"It _is_ your birthday," Elsa grins. "And I have a very special day prepared for you."

It takes little after that for Anna to discard all traces of sleep.

Between hugs, wandering hands and morning kisses, they leave the bed much later than anticipated, despite Elsa insisting that they get ready right away because they have a long day ahead of them. "But what are we _doing_?" Anna asks her more than once with childish impatience. Elsa refuses to give her an answer. All she does is smirk as she discards her pajamas with shameless seduction and heads to the bathroom to start the shower.

She goes as far as rinsing her hair when she hears the bathroom's door open and close, and catches her girlfriend taking a peek from behind the curtain.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Do you even have to ask?" She responds, her voice low and flirty.

Elsa lets Anna step under the water as soon as she's inside while her gaze roams amidst the steam over the girl's naked body. She watches the water trickle down her breasts, her belly and her legs. She sees her naked, only inches away from her, and Elsa can't help the desire that ignites within her.

"Can I help you?" Anna teases.

Elsa's arm reaches for her waist. "You most certainly can," she murmurs, pulling her steadily away from the downpour and into her body. Their chests meet as softly as a caress, and the sensation drives Elsa to tighten her hold before she leans in.

Anna's lips are damp and warm; her tongue sleek and inviting, and Elsa takes her time kissing her with such a passion that it feels as if this were their first time. Their tongues meet languidly while their hands caress the skin of each other's backs until Anna allows her to push her against the cool tiles of the shower. Elsa can feel her center throbbing with the way she is being kissed; with how her nipples brush against Anna's; with how the girl is tugging at her hair.

She spreads her girlfriend's legs enough to rest a hand against her center. The redhead whimpers, panting out at the steam that engulfs them as she begins to tease her; a single middle finger ghosting over the bundle that makes Anna moan into her mouth. Elsa can feel nails begin to scratch her back, an action that drives her to push herself harder against Anna's body. She keeps trying to grip at the wall, to find a leverage for her insurmountable lust.

Anna's breathing is becoming erratic, her hips keep buckling, and her hands keep holding on tight to any part of Elsa that she can grasp, scratching the skin of Elsa's back until the blonde hisses when she does it a little too hard. She mutters sorry next to her ear but the word is lost in a sea of sensations.

The redhead soon throws her head back against the tiles, gasping at the sudden movement of Elsa's fingers. She goes slow, unhurried to the point of torture, as she builds on the pleasure of being inside of her. She is half mindful of marking Anna where only she can see but she will still have to apologize later when Anna cannot wear anything with spaghetti straps.

The water is mixing with the taste of their kisses, cascading down their bodies as smoothly as if they were made of marble, and Elsa thinks, for a brief, hazy moment that if she could spend the rest of her life pleasing Anna, she would.

For so many years Elsa had known the effects that the female body could have on her. She had learned so timidly, as though it were forbidden and all she could do was glimpse with the hopes that she would never be caught. Because of this, she was never able to possess the capabilities of being in control of her own body as it fell in sync with that of another's woman. 

It was this same foreign act of intimacy that Elsa knew deep down would be different with Anna from the beginning. 

With her, everything made sense; every moan, every caress, every kiss. With Anna every single one of her senses became immersed to the point where she would never be able to explain the feeling of pleasure that came with being so close to her. And in the end, it was this concept the greatest source of ecstasy for her; to think that with Anna, and only Anna, she was able to build this kind of connection with. Of course, it was different each time. Some days it was slow, reverent and profound. Some others, it was erratic, like an action bare of everything but the intrinsic and erotic desire that coursed through their veins. But no matter how it unfolded, with Anna, Elsa would never be able to define it as anything other than making love.

Elsa pushes her steadily to the brink of orgasm and holds her when she comes, never once taking her eyes off her girlfriend as she finishes riding the very last wave of pleasure in her arms. 

They remain suspended in the silence that follows, until Anna almost slips on wobbly legs and Elsa mutters with a laugh: "So much for showering."

In the end, it takes them almost two hours to get ready because Anna is still holding onto residual lust. Yet, Elsa doesn't have it in her to complain. Not when Anna pins her against the bed and does things to her that leave her feeling like an absolute pile of mush.

When they're done getting dressed Anna calls in sick at work. Elsa had been guilty that she'd even had to, but Anna had waved it off and told her that she could make up the hours next week.

"Maybe this will be the last time I call in sick," she says; eyes wide and hopeful, and Elsa hopes so too because she really wants Anna to get that job but also because she's always been iffy about people missing a day of work under a fake excuse.

The flu is an archaic excuse at this point so the redhead asks Elsa to give her the weirdest disease she can come up with. She writes it down on a piece of paper as the manager's phone rings. Anna lowers the tone of her voice and her expression changes to one of pain—"To get in character, silly," she'll explain later when Elsa has to ask why—. She tells her boss that she's down with mitral regurgitation. It's a crappy condition, hereditary, non-contagious. Yes, she will be okay. Yes, she will see them all next week, God willing. Yes, thank you for your concern. Bye.

"What's mitral regurgitation?" She asks after she hangs up.

"When the blood leaks backwards from the left ventricle to the left atrium."

Anna's mouth goes agape. "That doesn't sound good."

"Good thing you're young and healthy," she teases.

This works like flipping a switch on Anna's character slot machine. "No more o'that, my Queen," she gushes as she throws herself at Elsa's arms. "Oh I am o'er wrought with heavy sorrow for I am no longer a lady of youth. Shall you still love me so?"

"You are so weird."

Anna opens one eye. "That's not your line."

Elsa bites her lip. She's trying really hard not to laugh. "I shall love thee for eternity, Milady," she states theatrically before dropping a sloppy kiss on her girlfriend's mouth.

The redhead escapes her mighty hold with a squeal, claps her hands and rubs them against each other. "So... what's the plan?"

A scavenger hunt is the plan, and Anna squeals and jumps and bolts out the door as soon as Elsa announces it.

At her own ceremonious pace Elsa grabs Anna's tote bag and her own backpack. She's got the prizes hidden there and the riddles are meant for places and not items, which makes the hunt only half as accurate. But the truth is that Elsa couldn't afford placing them someplace where a stranger could find them. She'd go absolutely nuts if that happened after spending two weeks planning this. The places, the gifts, the order in which they would go. She spent nights having trouble sleeping as she thought of the best way to construct this while Anna drooled on her shoulder.

Downstairs, Elsa gives her the first riddle. They're all written in flashcards and Elsa is embarrassed to admit that she spent too much time thinking about how to phrase them. She researched synonyms, pictures and historical backgrounds to the point of exhaustion, but she still feels a pang of self-consciousness when Anna reads the riddle out loud.

_A neighborhood of indulgence where red, white and green garlands fly over your head._

_Filled with history that you can taste and pleasure that you can drink._

Anna is taking this dead serious. There's comfort in that.

"What's got history... that you can taste?"

"That's a rhetorical question, right?"

"Crap. You know the answer. Okay... I mean this is food right? Of course it's food. Now, what kind of pleasure? Coffee?"

Elsa makes a face that says _Not really_.

"Right. Then alcohol. Is it wine? Wine has been a source of pleasure since the Greek times—"

"Nerd."

"Shush. Let me think. So it's probably wine... and food. Wine and food." She rereads the riddle. Elsa has to guide her away from the middle of the sidewalk when a man strides past them with a grunt.

Anna suddenly gasps. "Oh! Jesus I'm so dumb, it's Italy! Red, white and green, those things are everywhere!"

Elsa laughs a little. She tells her that she's far from dumb and lets Anna take her by the hand towards the train station. They switch lines in Union Square while Anna buzzes with barely contained excitement. It is contagious, and Elsa soon finds herself forgetting about the cringy riddles she's still got waiting in her bag.

"Can I get my prize now?" Anna asks her somewhere between Bleecker and Spring Street.

" _No_? We have to get there first, Anna."

She huffs. "You know I don't have that kind of patience."

Elsa can only laugh.

It isn't until they find a small place to eat amongst the narrow streets of Little Italy that Elsa gives her the first present.

"I know we said we would do an exchange," she says as Anna unwraps the book. "But I guess I just really wanted it to be yours... If you look inside you'll see that I underlined the lines that I liked the most, and some that reminded me of you, too."

She watches Anna open the book with a faint smile. She opens it on the first page where Elsa also left a brief note that, once Anna finishes reading, makes her bring Elsa's hand up to her lips. As they wait for the food to arrive, she leafs excitedly through the book.

"The girl raised her eyes to see who was passing by the window," she reads out loud. "And that casual glance was the beginning of a cataclysm of love that still had not ended half a century later." Anna pouts. "Do they end up together?"

Elsa laughs. "Bold of you to assume they'll be together at all."

She gasps. "How dare you bring down my spirits like that."

"Just read the book, sweetheart."

Food is served a while after that and they spend the rest of their time discussing trivial matters until Anna brings up the subject of Elsa's prep week in July. The blonde has no idea what it will entail and so the details she gives are minimum. Still, she enjoys answering Anna's questions. Most of them, at least.

"Is Tracy going to be there?" She asks her at some point.

"I don't know... I hope not."

"She might. She's part of the group after all."

Elsa tries to hide her distaste with a sip of her coffee before she says: "Can we not talk about her right now?"

Anna tilts her head. "Why?"

"Cause it's your birthday. I don't want her to be in our minds during your birthday"

"Okay..."

She tries to deviate from the subject but she's interrupted by Anna's phone ringing. The redhead sees it, tells her that it's her dad and Elsa nods, enouraging her to answer it.

The phone call doesn't last long but when Anna hangs up she appears willing to change the subject herself. It is her birthday, after all. A matter as banal as Tracy shouldn't fit in the grand scheme of things.

"Mom was there too," she says.

"So I heard... How are they?"

"They're okay," she smiles. "Busy with work, you know, the usual." Elsa doesn't press further but it seems as though Anna feels the need to add: "They always call."

The blonde nods.

They ask for the check soon after and their excitement blossoms once more when Elsa gives her girlfriend the second riddle.

_In a village full of colors and late nights, a corner place hides in plain sight, where you and I were meant to spend the first of many nights._

"That one sucks, I'm sorry."

Anna shushes her again. "It's good, Elsa. All of this is incredible and thoughtful and I love you beyond words now let me think." She stares into space. "Where you and I were meant to spend the first of many nights... Were we supposed to have sex here?"

Elsa widens her eyes. "No! That's not—I only meant that as spending time together."

"I wouldn't have minded, you know?"

"What? Having sex in a public place?"

Anna sniggers. "No... Although now that you mention it..."

" _Anna._ "

"Okay, okay. I meant having sex when we first met."

"Are you serious? You wouldn't have waited?"

"Are you kidding me? Do you remember what you were wearing? I woulda climbed ya like a tree, you darn sexy lady _,_ " she drawls in a southern accent.

Elsa is glad there is no one close enough to hear her.

They begin walking down Mulberry Street, blending in with the tourists that are beginning to flock the streets searching for the Italian bakeries they found on TripAdvisor and stumbling upon cheap souvenir shops while they're at it.

"Okay, so I should focus on the you and I part," Anna muses. " _And_ the first night..." She pauses, glances around. There is a trio of backpackers leaving a bakery. They walk past them munching on cannolis and Anna follows them with her eyes.

"Oh!" She slaps her thigh, earning a concerned look from a street vendor close by. "It's the café, isn't it? The café you took me to that was closed the night we met."

"Where's it at, though?"

Anna rolls her eyes. "The _East Village_. It's not like I don't spend half of my time there now."

On their way over and surrounded by a dense pack of subway commuters, Anna whispers: "You know, technically speaking, you _could_ have meant sex. You live in the East Village after all."

Elsa blushes.

The chocolate cake that started it all is Anna's dessert, and her second present as well. It is perhaps silly to think of it as a present at all, but to both Elsa and Anna the cake has a meaning behind it. Like an inside joke, it's something only they can understand. 

Besides, it tastes incredible.

As they share a slice, Anna asks her to read out loud the third riddle. So she does. "Two mighty beasts protect the gates of a temple where time has been engraved by ink and paper." This one she personally likes. It is brief and it rhymes too. Plus, it doesn't make her cringe.

"Wait what?"

Elsa stares at her. There's a tiny smudge of chocolate on the corner of the redhead's lips that she wipes away with her thumb. Anna pays little attention to this.

"Two mighty beasts? Is it the zoo?"

She giggles. "No."

Anna makes a face of pure tragedy. The drama this girl can pull off in a single expression is astounding.

"Okay. Let's think. Time is engraved by ink and paper... _Time._ Is this... wait..." She's thinking so hard Elsa wants to laugh. "Ink and paper. Oh my God is it the Times? It _has_ to be the Times!"

Elsa shakes her head slowly.

The redhead brings her hands up to her face and pushes them against her cheeks, puckering her lips in the process. She then takes another bite off the cake as if this would make her think better.

"I could have sworn it was the Times," she mumbles.

"That would have actually fit rather well."

"But it doesn't because you like to tease me endlessly."

"Mea culpa."

They finish the rest while Anna asks for hints that Elsa is not willing to give. So, grumpily, she continues to go through her thinking process out loud until she finally pauses, widens her eyes and proclaims, "I know."

Elsa arches her eyebrow when the girl points the spoon up at the ceiling, waving it to accentuate every word she says. "I cannot believe I didn't guess this one sooner."

"What's your guess?"

"The lions! It's the Public Library!" She exclaims with satisfaction. The spoon almost flees from her hand.

The blonde grins. "Which one?"

"The big one, Elsa!"

And off they go. The clock is close to striking 2 p.m. by the time they make it to Bryant Park's station on 42nd Street. Elsa sends a text to Kristoff and Rapunzel, quickly checking in with them before she tucks it inside the back pocket of her jeans. Upon arriving at the bottom of the Library's steps Anna turns to look at her with eyes full of anticipation. The blonde chuckles, but it isn't until she's guided her inside and to a bench on the second floor—for the sake of privacy—that she gives her the third present: a letter.

It is a single page covered almost entirely on both sides by Elsa's handwriting.

_My sweet, freckled feisty pants,_

_I think we can both agree by now that I am not as good with words as you are, but you must know that every word in this letter is as sincere and full of meaning as every kiss and every hug I'll ever give you._

_I've spent a lot of time trying to come up with the right thing to say but I feel like nothing could ever do justice to the way you make me feel. I used to think that this kind of love was only real in fairy tales, that only some people were meant for it, and that I would never be part of the lucky ones to experience it. Then you stormed into my life one day with your cute rants and gorgeous smile, and well... you know the rest. You've taught me things I never knew about love (true love!), you've made me laugh until my belly hurts, you've given me comfort when I needed it most. You've simply made me happier than I have ever been before and for that I have to thank you, just as I thank the universe every day for having brought you to this earth and allowed us to exist at the same time, in the same place._

_When I tell you that I am one lucky girl, I don't say it lightly. To be able to call you my girlfriend, my best friend... to be able to know you at all is the greatest of gifts. You're incredible, Anna - the smartest, bravest and most loving person I know, and you deserve all the best that this world can give._

_I can't read the future (I'm not that smart... yet - wink wink) but I really hope that whatever is in store for us, we will be able to share many more birthdays together._

_I adore you with my whole heart._

_Yours always,_

_Elsa._

When Anna finishes reading the letter she turns to look at the blonde. Her expressive blue eyes shimmer under the sunlight that seeps through the windows and Elsa is reminded once more of her luck, and of the affection she constantly feels emitting straight from her heart and onto the girl that sits beside her.

The hug Anna gives her doesn't come as a surprise but the depth it conveys still manages to have an effect on her.

"I love you so much," Anna breathes.

Her eyes close at these words as she smiles. "I love _you_ ," she breathes back.

They take advantage of this impromptu visit to take a walk around the library. They marvel at the monumental reading hall and stroll around the research rooms with as much pause as if they were in a museum. It all feels new to Elsa, and it suddenly hits her that in a way, it is. Because she's taken this city for granted and she's forgotten what it feels like to simply go out there and discover.

All thanks to the girl who sports a mischievous smile as soon as they step outside.

"You know what I've always wanted to do?" Anna asks her.

She's afraid to ask. "What?"

The redhead smirks at her, glances at the big marble lion, looks back at her, and takes off in a run.

"Anna, no!"

"Come on, Elsa!"

She is coerced, blatantly and shamelessly, to sit on one of the mighty sculptures that guard the entrance of New York's (the big one) Public Library. Elsa thinks that this has got to be prohibited on some level but no one stops them and nobody screams at them to get off.

"This is so exciting. It's like we're in Narnia, Elsa." She holds onto the sculpted lion's mane with one hand as she draws an imaginary sword with the other, pointing it out to the sky. "For Narnia!" She yells.

At which point Elsa lets go of the laughter that's been building up inside her chest is something that she will never know but when it finally leaves her, she laughs herself to the brink of tears, engraving this moment in her mind, and her heart, forever.

After they dismount—to Anna's great dismay—they set off in the direction of Bryant Park. It is here that the fourth riddle is read out loud.

_Time rushes past you from where you stand on carmine steps. Around you, a thousand lights radiate day and night over the intersection where worlds collide and strangers meet._

It gives your girlfriend mild anxiety during rush hour, she also wanted to write.

"This one's the easiest one so far," the redhead smirks.

It _is_ rush hour in Times Square, but Anna cuts through the crowds as if she's done it a hundred times before. She walks with Elsa close to her, flashing her a grin every now and then as they both glance around at the plethora of glaring billboards that surround them. It is overwhelming but at the same time, it could never be any other way than this; exuberant and imposing. A spectacle for the eyes that stands as a beacon alone for dreamers and tourists alike.

This place has always been a source of mixed feelings for Elsa. At the beginning, it carried the same symbolism as it did for everyone who moved to New York City with the intention of becoming someone. But eventually Elsa learned that it wasn't the same to visit Times Square as a newbie than as a resident. For a newbie, it all felt like magic. For a resident, it sometimes felt like a plague to avoid at all costs.

Like a satirical advertisement, she thinks as she looks around and chuckles at the tourists that are currently taking a picture with a flabby Iron Man. Does the lagging pace of everyone around you make you want to pull out your hair? Do you keep screaming (move!) in your head every time you dodge Elmo and Pikachu? If the answer is yes to any of these questions, congratulations! You've made it as a true New Yorker and your temper has dropped faster than the New Year's Ball.

They reach the red stairs and Elsa lets her girlfriend guide her all the way to the top. She nearly topples on the bench when Anna pulls her down but the redhead catches her with a laugh, and somewhere in the back of her mind Elsa makes a promise to herself never to visit Times Square if Anna isn't with her.

The girl outstretches her hands with her palms facing up before she wiggles her fingers. Elsa pulls out the second to last present of the day, expecting a gasp that never comes because Anna is too busy covering her mouth with her hand in surprise.

It's a Polaroid camera.

"To fill up a new board," she tells her sheepishly.

Anna cradles her face. "You. Are. The best. Girlfriend. _Ever._ "

Of course, the moment must be commemorated with a picture that, when revealed, shows Times Square in the background and Anna's lips stuck lovingly to Elsa's cheek.

It takes them a while to get to the last part of the hunt when there is so much to see and so many memories to share. They each take their turn sharing anecdotes, like how Anna once saw someone dressed up as a panda, walking around with a suitcase and looking rather gloomy—"How could you tell he was gloomy?" Elsa asked. "Cause he had his head down," Anna replied— Fair enough. The blonde then recounts how she had almost slipped on ice once because she was trying to escape from a Cookie Monster that kept offering to take a picture with her. "I had a very bizarre dream that night, too," she adds.

While still on the stairs, Elsa finally gives Anna the last flashcard.

"Opened over a hundred years ago—okay, that's gonna be hard—a building where Twain, Sartre and Ginsberg once stayed... A bohemian house and a city landmark wherein its walls the secrets of the greatest artists have remained... Oh come on!"

Elsa can't help but laugh at her frustration. Especially when the riddles are butchered and only half of them make sense but Anna still reads them as though they came from Confucius himself.

"I have no clue about this one, Elsa," she pouts.

The blonde considers this. It's the last riddle, so why not? "Do you want me to give you a hint?"

Anna immediately grins. Oh, the manipulation...

"It's near Kristoff's place."

"Are you kidding me?! How is that a hint?"

"It's near a subway station, too," she grins.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't"

"I can try."

Elsa's stare defies her. She huffs.

"Okay. I'll give you a real hint but I'll change the game as well. You have to guess, but instead of giving me the answer you'll have to take me there. Which means you only have one chance to get it right."

"Why do I only get one chance?"

"For my own amusement."

"You're cruel."

Elsa laughs softly. "I wouldn't change the rules if I didn't think you'd guess this right."

Anna crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, waiting.

"This is a place you once told me you wish you had lived in..."

The redhead looks at her as if she had suddenly gone mad. The hint is vague, but attached to the riddle it _should_ make sense. Elsa has faith in her.

She lets Anna ponder in silence while she takes the liberty of watching her do so. Her freckled cheeks are red from the sun that just now Elsa's remembered they needed protection from. Her eyes are roaming about as though they're trying to catch the answer in the air. 

Without noticing, the sight draws a tender smile out of the blonde.

Anna takes her to the subway station. They hop on the 1 South Ferry-bound and she thinks that so far, so good. Sandwiched by commuters, Elsa holds onto the grab bar above her and lets Anna lean on her before she drapes an arm over her shoulder. Her lips linger on the redhead's forehead. All that excitement's got her tired, she thinks amusedly, knowing that the exhaustion won't last too long.

When the train screeches to a halt on 23rd Street and Anna makes a move to exit, Elsa knows she's guessed right.

The Chelsea Hotel is a historical building she knew nothing about until Anna went off one day about how writers like Arthur Miller and Mark Twain had stayed there at some point during their lives. She told her how she wished she had stayed there during those Golden Age days, daydreaming about meeting some of the artists she would eventually stumble upon and be inspired by during her time in college. "Imagine," she'd mused as they both lay in bed looking up at the ceiling. "Anna Summers wrote her first book while she stayed at the Chelsea Hotel."

Inside the lobby is where Elsa gives her the last prize of the hunt; an easy one to come up with but the hardest one to attain.

Anna opens the long, thin case while Elsa carefully watches her reaction. What she finds inside is a single ivory-colored fountain pen.

"For autographs," Elsa says as an explanation.

Anna is shaking her head slowly. "You didn't have to..."

"But I wanted to." She lifts up her chin. "I know this isn't the same as staying at the hotel but I hope it symbolizes something similar for you."

"It means more to me than you could imagine."

She grins, says "Good," and leans in for a searing kiss.

At long last the scavenger hunt is over. Elsa checks her phone as they exit the hotel, finding there a couple of messages that signify a green light.

"Come on," she tells Anna, tugging at her hand.

"Is the hunt not over?" She asks excitedly.

"It is, sweetheart, but Kristoff's place is close by, remember?"

Anna widens her eyes momentarily then frowns. "He didn't call to wish me a happy birthday."

"Maybe he was busy... You'll see him in a bit though, so we can both lecture him about that. He asked me if we could stop by."

"What for?"

"To say hi? Or maybe just to go over tomorrow's plans."

Anna hums, not satisfied with the answer but unable to place any fault in it.

They walk the few blocks to Kristoff's apartment talking about the day's events. Anna keeps going on excitedly about how much fun her birthday turned out to be and Elsa keeps smiling, taking pleasure in her obliviousness.

At the entrance of the building, she calls Kristoff through the intercom. The boy answers after the fourth ring. 

"Hellow?"

"Kristoff? It's us. Can you let us in?"

"Yes, cap."

The door buzzes before them, they walk in and head for the elevator. Once inside, Elsa turns to the eyes that keep looking at her with dubious curiosity.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She gives Anna her own questioning look as the bell chimes on the 5th floor.

The door to Kristoff's apartment is two to the left. Elsa knows this because she's visited it three times before. Two with Anna and one by herself, five days ago. Upon knocking, the sound of Sven's excited, heavy paws hitting the hardwood floor are heard for a few seconds before they're gone. Kristoff opens the door moments later but has no time to greet them because Anna is already swiveling past Elsa to punch him in the arm.

He stares at her horrified. "Ouch? What was that for?"

"You didn't wish me a happy birthday today," she fumes. Elsa bites her lip, choosing to steer away from her girlfriend's left hook.

Kristoff laughs. "Come here, feisty pants," he exclaims before wrapping her up in a bear hug.

Anna soon leads the way inside, grinning now, looking for Sven. "What did you _do_ to him, Kristoff? And why is everything so freaking dark—"

The lights of the living room go on all at once revealing, where they stand in the living room, all of Anna's friends.

"Surprise!" 

From next to her, Elsa gives her a peck on the cheek. "Happy birthday, baby," she whispers.

Sven is the first one to reach her. He's a behemoth of a dog—all love and sloppy kisses. He jumps on his hind legs as if he knew that today was Anna's birthday, joining in on the excitement while everyone takes turns wishing Anna a happy birthday. All of the boys are there, Eric, Aladdin, Shang and Eugene, hugging her and ruffling her hair with boyish affection. Meanwhile Elsa is laughing at her cousin who, for a reason unbeknownst to everyone, had been hiding behind a lamp when the lights went on. The brunette is jumping up and down with Anna's hands in hers.

Anna is baffled still, but her eyes are brimming with tears when she finally turns to look at Elsa. They fall into an earnest embrace in which the girl says nothing. There is no need; Elsa can feel it.

They're soon engulfed in a celebration that is encouraged by beer, loud conversations and bad jokes. Anna keeps peeking at the presents that are on the table but she stops and smiles sheepishly when Elsa catches her. The blonde offers to get her another beer and she readily agrees. 

Kristoff is already in the kitchen. He's refilling a bowl of chips that will be emptied almost as fast as it was filled. 

When he sees her he asks: "You excited about tomorrow?"

Elsa is getting two Stella's out of the fridge. She opens them with some difficulty; beer has never been a personal preference. "I am, yes... But I also fear for my safety. You guys are all nuts," she jokes.

"Yeah okay, look who's talking."

She grins against the mouth of her bottle before she takes a sip. It runs smoothly down her throat, she'll give Anna that. 

Kristoff leans next to her on the counter. They both look over at the redhead, currently sandwiched between Sven and Rapunzel, snapping pictures on her new Polaroid camera as if her life depended on it.

"You know, when I was growing up I didn't have a lot of friends," he tells her. "But when I got to college and met Anna... it's like she became all of them at once," he chuckles. "We were all busy with classes and girls and whatever, but she was always around with a new idea for us to try out. Like the time she made us go to the Met for Valentine's day, did she tell you about that?"

"Eugene did," she says with a smile.

"Yeah... That was quite something. But it's always been like that. She's the glue of the group. She kept all of us in check, too."

"She's feisty."

"A scary little thing," he finishes, grinning. He lifts up his beer and tilts it in the blonde's direction. Elsa clinks their bottles together.

They cheer to Anna.

* * *

It is a four hour drive from the city to Kristoff's place in Ithaca.

A mess of a four hour drive that began soon after leaving Manhattan when Elsa started to feel uncharacteristically carsick. Everyone had attributed it to the fact that she had stopped being used to being in a car at all, but no one was able to explain why she was the only one suffering the symptoms. The only thing she knew for a fact was that she wanted to jump out of here and crawl all the way back to the city.

"Just look out the window, sweetheart," Anna had told her. Which is what she's been doing for an hour, with her head resting on her girlfriend's neck pillow and her eyes staring back at her sick-looking self on the window.

She can hear the squeaky sound of Sven's toy coming from behind her and Eugene playing whatever Pokémon game is on his Switch. She keeps thinking that if she focuses on these diminutive sounds instead of the music coming from the speakers of the car, her nausea will be kept at bay.

Anna is sitting right next to her, holding her limp hand with distracted care. She's scooted all the way to the front of the seat so that she can chat with Kristoff—the driver—and Rapunzel who, by some divine intervention, drew the shortest straw and now gets to be shotgun and the designated DJ by default. A mistake in the order of the universe if there ever was one, because she's already played _Wannabe_ twice in a row and by now Elsa is sure she's not the only one who wants to snatch that phone out of her cousin's hands.

"Rapunzel I swear to God if you play Spice Girls one more time—"

"What'chu gonna do?!" 

_Wannabe_ starts playing again.

A communal groan ensues followed by Anna gently taking the phone out of the brunette's hands. By majority of vote—Elsa doesn't participate—she plays AC/DC. Lowly, so that the music doesn't throb against Elsa's skull and makes her spew out her breakfast all over this rented SUV's carpet.

She continues to stare out the window, watching as the trees blend in and pass by in a rush. Minutes turn into another hour. They switch AC/DC for Guns n' Roses. Elsa is beginning to lull herself to sleep with Axl Rose's voice when there is a pause in Eugene's relentless noise-maker.

"You guys, I think Sven just farted."

They veer to the side of the road to get fresh air. Elsa nearly sprints out the door.

Back inside the car Anna says, "Okay, let's play a game—"

"I'm hungry."

"We'll stop by Taco Bell," Kristoff says.

_Not Taco Bell, please!_ Elsa wants to scream.

Anna ignores all of this. "If you could have any super power, what would it be?"

"The power to pass this stupid level," Eugene mutters.

"To be able to talk to animals."

"What would you need that for? You already talk to Sven all the time."

Anna turns to the blonde.

"Ice powers," she mumbles. "No. Scratch that. The power to prevent carsickness."

"That's lame," Rapunzel says.

"I hate you."

"I can actually see you with ice powers," Anna muses.

Elsa's doesn't have the energy to ask why.

A pit stop and an hour and a half later they make it to Kristoff's place. It is late afternoon and the sun will soon approach the horizon to give way to dusk. The house is situated on the lakefront of Cayuga Lake. It is spacious and cozy, with a big enough kitchen that they don't have to worry about who burns it first and a living room that is separated from a small deck by a pair of sliding doors. They split as soon as they walk in, heading for the rooms that Kristoff shows them to. 

Elsa showers for the sake of showering, as if the water will wash away the residuals of her nausea.

There is a fire pit on the deck around which they all sit an hour or so later. The fire is not necessary in this summer night, but the breeze coming from the lake as well as the comfort it inevitably brings is what makes them set it in the first place.

"So Kristoff, time to spill the beans," Eugene says. He kicks back on the bench he's sharing with Rapunzel, momentarily breaking his cool facade when he almost topples to the side. "What happened with your girlfriend?"

"Ah, man... She broke up with me." Sven's head lifts up from where he lies next to him on the wooden floor. He senses some distress in his best friend's voice, licks the back of his hand, then rests his head back on top of his paws.

"Wait, what? Why?"

Kristoff shrugs. "She kind of wanted an open relationship, I guess? She kept telling me that she was a free spirit and needed to share her energy with more than one person—"

"Quirky," Anna whispers to Elsa. The blonde chuckles.

"She was _artsy_. Anyways, when I told her I could only do exclusive relationships she broke up with me."

They all stare at him.

"Man, no wonder she was a flirt," Eugene says.

Kristoff nods sourly.

"Did she flirt with you?" Rapunzel asks her boyfriend.

"Somewhat? She was a bit odd— " _Artsy_ " —but I think she was definitely flirting with me. Like that one time outside of school, she kept winking at me like 'I burn incense,' wink. 'I do yoga on the weekends,' wink. 'Want me to read your chakras? wink."

Rapunzel snorts, takes a sip of her tea, and turns to Elsa. "Isn't that how that Tracy chick is with you?"

Not again, she thinks. "Yes."

Anna tilts her head at her but says nothing.

"She hates her," Rapunzel says to the rest of the group.

Elsa doesn't deny it. 

"Why do you hate her? Don't girls feel complimented when other girls hit on them?" 

"Who on earth told you that?" 

"You?"

"I don't know. I don't like talking about her," Elsa responds.

There is a pause in the conversation during which she can see her cousin trying to come up with a teasing remark. It is during this time that she misses Anna's sudden change of mood.

"You know there's a very thin line between love and hate," the redhead blurts out.

Rapunzel clams her mouth shut. Kristoff, still petting Sven and hypnotized by the fire mutters, "True that," and takes an absentminded sip of his beer.

Elsa ignores this because she is too busy watching her girlfriend. There is no smile gracing Anna's lips. No chirpy afterthought. It throws Elsa off completely; it reverberates in her mind, like a poignant accusation.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asks her softly.

Anna doesn't say anything. She gives her an expression that is both sad and reserved, and it leaves Elsa with the inability to push for an answer.

Her cousin is the first to sense a shift in the air. "Right... well, Kristoff, I'm sure you'll find somebody."

Elsa doesn't pay much attention to anything that follows. She sinks into a mutual silence with the girl sitting by her side; a monumental gap that she can't breach no matter how much she tries to draw the redhead in with her eyes.

She remains struck by Anna's words, her silence, and her own inability to comprehend the reason behind such a blatant statement. To think that her girlfriend would ever come to imagine that she could cross the line with Tracy... with _anyone_. It leaves her with a sharp pang of bitterness that is fueled by a strange sensation permeating her heart. Because this time, there has been no reassurance, no Let's talk later. This time there is nothing but the poisonous decision to stay silent.

There is a barrier between them that Elsa doesn't know how to cross without interrupting everyone's conversation or bursting back inside the house hoping that Anna will follow. She is deterred by her own upset, her own confused mind asking her why Anna has chosen this moment to bring out something that she has clearly thought of before.

"I'm tired," Anna suddenly announces to the group. "I think I'm gonna go to sleep."

Elsa looks at her, barely nodding in bafflement when she glances her way.

She watches her girlfriend slowly get up to leave.

Her hands crave to reach out for her. She wishes to ask, to know why she would ever say something like that, but when Anna doesn't turn to look at Elsa one last time, she doesn't get up to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate me? Still sort of virtually like me? Let me know pretty please!
> 
> By the way, remember a few chapters back when I asked you guys what you thought had gone through Anna's mind when they discussed Tracy tagging along for the trip? Aight well, it's finally come out...


	19. Trials of love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for your comments! I hope this chapter delivers... I was supposed to be done like two days ago but it was like 'bish u think??' and I wasn't and I kept adding stuff and... yeah. Just a quick announcement: I've started classes again, and while I hope it doesn't affect the regularity of my updates I feel like I should tell you guys in case I take a bit longer in between chapters (and just so you don't think I've given up on this story because I HAVE NOT). 
> 
> Enjoy!

Anna spends little less than ten minutes roaming about the room like a caged-in tiger. Her heart is aching, her mind is full of doubts. She is pacing around, hoping that her relentless steps will keep her mind preoccupied with something other than her haunting thoughts.

To no avail.

She decides to take a shower on the spur of the moment. It's helped her clear her mind before—to get rid of a writer's block, not to push her emotions away, but on this thought she chooses not to dwell—. The short walk from the room to the bathroom is accompanied by very little noise. The muffled voices she hears coming from the deck are Kristoff's and Rapunzel's, and Anna wishes for a moment that she could be there with them instead of having to lick her wounds in silence and alone.

_You brought this on yourself..._

But did she?

The back of her eyes burn with unshed tears.

Once inside the bathroom she begins to undress distractedly; lost in contemplation. Her shoulder blades are sore from having her elbows propped on the back of the car seats for so long, and the balls of her feet hurt a little when she steps on them from all that walking she did yesterday.

She sighs. Yesterday seems so far away now.

Anna starts the shower and waits for the water to run hot before she steps in. If anything, she thinks, the pressure will soothe the aches of her body.

She lets the water trickle down her skin, engulfing her in a comfort that only works as a placebo effect; because the real comfort is a person and she is sitting outside, at a distance that feels far greater than only a handful of meters. 

A single tear escapes her and Anna covers her face, willing herself to stay calm, to keep this from escalating when it doesn't need to.

Yet, there is a thought hammering itself onto the back of her mind that is forcing her to go places Anna wishes she could stay away from. If only Elsa would give her a straight answer. If only she wouldn't dodge a subject that shouldn't even matter this much in the first place. Because what was it about Tracy that provoked such a reaction out of her? Was Anna not seeing something that's been right there since the beginning?

So distracted is Anna by her thoughts that she forgets if she's washed her hair and has to do it all over again. She then scrubs her body, rinses it, and places her face under the downpour of the shower until she needs to gasp for air. The image of Elsa sitting outside strikes her mind and her throat tightens. She inhales, then exhales shakily for one, two, and three times until she can breathe without it hurting. She is frustrated. She wants to scream.

When she steps out of the shower room she pads over to where the mirror stands covered in fog. Anna wipes it with her hand. A pair of teal-colored eyes, stifled by the emotions swimming right beneath, are staring back at her. She wants to be angry at Elsa but the only emotion that encompasses her heart is aimed right at herself. She is angry at her own insecurities; angry at herself for allowing nothing more than a stranger to dwell inside her mind for long enough that she's gone and blurted out the wrong words.

Then again, had they been the wrong words?

Her eyes travel down towards the patch of freckled skin bruised by Elsa's searing mouth: right where her collar bone ends and her shoulder begins. The tips of her fingers go up to touch it. The action evokes a rush of memories fresh from the day before. 

Can you yearn for something that hasn't been lost?

The corner of Anna's lips twitch where a smile threatens to appear but refuses to spread. _A thin line between love and hate._ Where has she even heard that before? Wasn't there a freaking movie with that title? Some people say it all the time. A boy and a girl quarrel—oh, they're _crazy_ about each other, they just can't see it yet. What a silly notion. There is no way Elsa could feel the same way about Tracy than she does about Anna. She knows this. Deep down, right below her doubts and swallowed almost whole by her insecurities, Anna knows this. Still, the frustration lingers and a demand for an answer, even more.

So she pats herself dry, determined to speak with her girlfriend even if it costs her a night of little sleep.

As she makes her way back to the room she does so quietly. There are no voices wafting in from the deck anymore but neither are there from anywhere around her. She passes by Rapunzel and Eugene's room and sees light coming in from under the door. At the sight, a wave of apprehension washes over her. Elsa must be back by now too.

Except that she isn't, and this ignites a twinge of bitterness that catches her by surprise. A bitterness that first surged when Elsa had not followed, that had dissipated quietly after her shower and was now back in full force. Like the incessant movement of a wave that the harder it hits, the more Anna thinks she will drown in it.

She sits on the bed with the intention of reading—a distraction. She's brought Madame Bovary with her so that she can finally finish it and move on with her life and onto the book Elsa's given her. She opens it near the end, skims over the same paragraph twice, and leafs through the book for a few more seconds, searching for a phrase that may catch her attention. Maybe she'll find an answer to her problem. Like a Magic 8-Ball. As for reading it: no, she can't. She should have brought something much lighter for this trip, like Gulliver's Travels or a goddamn children's book. Elsa had been right and it is exactly because of this that Anna wants to toss the book across the room. Wishful thinking. She does, however, toss it to the farthest corner of the bed before she stares at her journal lying next to her. Not a single urge in her body to reach out for it.

She stands up, unwrapping the towel from around her hair as she goes. She drops it on the armchair (must every guest room feel like a hotel room?) and walks over to where her backpack sits on the floor. There is the brush that Elsa—damn her—was mindful enough to pack. Her ever mindful girlfriend. Anna adores her; she absolutely loves her for this.

So why is she not being mindful right now?

Just as she is about to start brushing her hair, the door opens. Elsa holds her gaze as she enters, closes the door behinds her and stands by. She is holding a mug with steam coming off it.

"I'm going to sleep," Anna mutters. It is the opposite of what she wants to do, or even say, but the words come out before she has the time to stop them.

Elsa sighs. "It's not even nine, Anna... Are you seriously that tired?" She goes to place the mug on the bedside table before she looks at her again. 

Anna doesn't answer. She brushes her hair in silence with her head turned away from the blonde. Every motion of her hand is done with irritation, and the more the silence prolongs itself, the harder it is for her to contain it. _Mindful_ , she scolds internally.

"What was that all about?" She hears Elsa ask.

"You know what it was about."

She turns to face her then, and they regard each other for a moment. Anna can't read her eyes this time and something, somewhere in the back of her mind, tells her it is because Elsa is trying to read her as well.

"You've kept this in for a while, haven't you?"

"Nice of you to notice."

"Stop acting like a child, Anna."

"No," she steps closer. The brush is discarded like an afterthought; thrown on top of the backpack before it falls to the floor. "Do not patronize me, Elsa. You want to know if I've kept this in for a while? I sure have, because every time I try to bring up the subject you dodge it like it's a fucking bullet."

The bite in her own words is unexpected but considering everything that's lead to this moment, Elsa acting like she's the adult sounds like an ironic load of bullshit.

Elsa winces slightly before her expression hardens. "What part of I don't like talking about it don't you understand?"

"Is that seriously all you have to say?"

"What else do you expect me to say? Why is it so hard for you to just let it go—"

"Because you get all weird every time I start talking about her! At first I just thought, okay she's not in the mood, but how much longer are you planning on keeping that up?"

"You are blowing this out of proportion."

She is exasperated. "Am I? Just put yourself in my shoes, Elsa. What would you think if you kept trying to discuss someone I disliked and instead of giving you a clear answer, or even a damn list of all the things I hate about her, I just continue to shut off and tell you I don't want to talk about it... How would _you_ feel?"

"Don't pull the victim's card on me, Anna," she flares up. "You're the one who said that stupid nonsense about love and hate as if I would _ever_ cross that line."

Anna frowns. The words sting. "Stupid," she mutters with distaste. "You call it stupid of me to feel those things when you don't even have the courage to tell me what it is about Tracy that's got a stick up your ass."

"I call it stupid when I have never given you a single sign! A thin line between love and hate. Seriously, Anna? What exactly do you think is going to happen? That she'll sweep me off my feet? That I'll cheat on you with her in London? _What is it?_ "

The redhead goes dead silent. She is searching for something— _anything_ —that will tell her to stop pushing, but there hasn't been a single answer to any of her questions, and Anna is having a hard time reading her girlfriend at all.

"Are you not attracted to her then?" She tries.

Elsa looks like she's been slapped. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

She wants to scream. "For once just say yes or no! Stop acting like a prick—"

" _No_ , Anna," she forces out. "After everything I've ever said and done to you, how can you even think for a moment—"

"Do you guys have some history then?" She pushes. Her fears are out now. Mocking her, spitting right back at her. "Something you may have—I don't know— _failed_ to mention all these months?"

"Listen to yourself!" Elsa nearly shouts. "I just _don't_ like her. Stop making such a big deal out of it. Since when is it a sin to not want to talk about someone you don't like."

"When you start acting like there's something else going on! And you not telling me anything at all—how the hell am I supposed to trust you—"

" _Stop,_ " she seethes, pointing a finger at her. "Out of everything you can say this is by far the worst and you know it. Accuse me of shutting myself off if you want. Accuse me of being a cold hearted bitch too if that makes you feel any better, but don't you _dare_ accuse me of lying to you."

Frustration is an emotion that is sowed deep in the heart of those who let it in, and more often than not, it is anger what it reaps. Anger that Anna finds in Elsa's eyes with glaring clarity, piercing through her like lighting and sending dread as cold as ice down her spine, before the girl turns away with finality and storms out of the room.

The door slamming shut pulls the air out of her. She has never seen Elsa this upset but even more frightful is the fact that they have never acted this way towards each other before. It draws hot, angry tears out of her eyes, and she feels them falling down her cheeks before she has the time to stop them.

Her throat clenches with hateful distaste at what they've become, and she grips at the corner of the bed before she sits on it with wobbly legs. A hand goes up to wipe off the dampness from her cheeks before she presses down on her eyes. She shouldn't have said those things. She shouldn't have pushed Elsa to the brink of anger. But Elsa hadn't been _clear_... Why was it so hard for her to just be clear? What was it about Tracy that bothered her so much? It couldn't be that she was an arrogant asshole. That didn't make any sense. Elsa encounters arrogant assholes all the time. She does, too. This is New York for fuck's sake.

A sob escapes her.

It hurts. They were supposed to talk, to clear things up, not yell at each other. Nobody was supposed to storm out of the room. Nobody was supposed to cry at this.

Her nose is stuffy now and Anna groans in exasperation. She doesn't want to risk stepping out of the room looking like this so she stands up, forcing herself to take a mouthful of air that she lets out in shaky puff. Her heart aches and part of her wants to go after Elsa, but she knows that would be of no help. Anna had hit a nerve and Elsa had done so, too.

There is a clean napkin from Taco Bell that she had stuffed in her backpack earlier that day. It feels like sandpaper against the reddened skin of her nose but that will have to do.

She hates all of this. The crying, the accusing, the mistrust that shouldn't even be a thing. But most of all she hates Tracy and if she were in front of Anna right now she would sock her with the brush.

For the sake of having something to do, she goes to pick up the book and her journal from the bed, stacking them together and placing them neatly on the bedside table. The tea Elsa brought with her is still warm and a thought suddenly strikes Anna that she must have brought it for her.

She closes her eyes in quiet sorrow and sighs, wondering where Elsa went. She also wonders if she's as shaken as Anna feels. If she wants this to be over just as much as she craves it to be.

Slowly, she tugs at the covers of the bed, making it look as though she were simply waiting for Elsa to come back before sharing a goodnight's kiss and falling asleep in each other's arms. Another placebo effect; let her have this. Anna needs to cling to the notion that things will be okay.

Quite some time passes between Elsa storming out of the room and her coming back in. The harshness of her eyes is gone, replaced by a subdued dejection that she directs at her girlfriend as soon as she closes the door behind her. Anna had been sitting at the head of the bed all this time, working on finding a calmness that she knew she wouldn't be able to attain until they could fix this together.

The blonde sits close to her, and Anna can finally see that her eyes are red and weary. Those blue eyes that she's come to love as much as the girl herself.

A pang of guilt ensues.

When she's about to open her mouth—to utter what, she's not sure. Look how it all went down the last time—Elsa extends a hand between them. Her palm is facing up, searching for hers.

Anna has to think very little to meet her halfway.

"I'm sorry, Anna..." 

"I'm sorry, too," she mutters.

Another tentative hand goes up to her face. A thumb caresses her tear-stained cheek.

"I shouldn't have left like that."

"Maybe it was for the best," she says, and means it. "I think we both needed to cool off."

"Maybe," Elsa smiles sadly. "But still. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Anna bites her lip. "Just tell me what's on your mind... Why do you avoid talking about Tracy so much?" She asks this with as much softness as she can muster, afraid that this will cause another outburst between the two.

She watches her girlfriend in silence, deciding this time not to push for an answer. She wonders: had she not pushed too far, would things have turned out differently?

The blonde's chest puffs up with a long withheld breath that comes out tiredly. "I had to really force myself to think about this..."

Anna waits for her to continue. Elsa turns her attention to their intertwined hands.

"Do you remember how I told you once that I felt like she was playing a game with me?"

"Yes."

Another pause. The blonde tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she raises her eyes to meet with Anna's.

"I keep thinking that she feels like she has a grip over my reactions that I can't shake off, and it makes me feel like I don't have control of the situation..."

"But—" Elsa squeezes her hand. She goes quiet.

"I get... upset. And bitter. I don't like talking about her because whenever I do it feels like I'm giving her the satisfaction. And the fact that this all seems to be a game to her makes things worse because then I end up looking like an idiot, taking things seriously when she doesn't."

Anna raises a single index finger. "Can I say something?"

She chuckles dryly. "Yes."

"Maybe the fact that you feel like you have to have control is what's making you get upset in the first place... I mean, you barely know her. Is control really so important?"

The blonde sighs. "I guess... no, not really."

"Easier said than done, I know... but maybe if you work on that your reactions towards her won't be as hard to control. Cause like, who cares right? She's just some girl who's got the hots for you but is really bad at displaying it because she's full of herself."

Anna feels like half of what she's saying is impromptu therapeutic nonsense but they're _talking_ , and jeez... was it really so hard to do that?

"You're right," Elsa whispers.

The silence that follows works like a soothing balm. In it, the two find themselves conveying through their eyes what sometimes words fail to express. A single and unequivocal emotion: Love.

"I'm sorry if I said I couldn't trust you," Anna says. "That was... a bit uncalled for."

Elsa tilts her head. "Did you mean it?"

"I'd like to say that I didn't..."

"But part of you did," the blonde finishes.

She gives her the faintest of nods. "At that moment."

Elsa shakes her head, discontent with herself, and Anna wishes she could do something to change it.

"I don't want you to think that I'm constantly thinking about her or that there's any history between us," she tells her; blue eyes set hard on their conviction. "The last thing I wanted was to make you feel like you couldn't trust me."

"I was scared that you were keeping something from me," she admits.

Elsa's hand squeezes hers. "No—never. It was stupid of me to avoid the question so much and reacting the way I did..."

"Well you can't be smart all the time," she whispers.

Her girlfriend dismisses the statement with a little smile and a roll of her eyes. "You know I wouldn't lie to you though, right?"

Anna shakes her head.

"And you know that I'm not attracted to her either."

"Not even a tiny bit?" She braces herself. "It's okay if you are."

"I don't think you mean that second part," she says, smiling. "But no, not even a tiny bit."

The redhead turns her attention south to where her hand is fidgeting with Elsa's fingers. She is tired and worn out but her chest doesn't feel constricted anymore. 

If only she could sock Tracy with a brush. 

"I'm sorry for calling you a prick."

"I deserved that."

Anna doesn't say anything. She glances sideways and Elsa chuckles.

"Anna... as much as I hate it, Tracy is still going to be around for a while. I know that all of this was my fault—"

"I shouldn't have pushed you though—"

"No," she drawls, "but if I had been an emotionally intelligent human being we wouldn't have gotten there in the first place."

Anna stares at her. "It was nobody's fault, Elsa... Not really."

"Just Tracy's."

"Just Tracy's, yeah."

Elsa scoots closer. For a moment she thinks the blonde will lean in to kiss her because her hand has gone up to rest at the nape of her neck, but her mouth is not what she's looking for; it is her cheek. A tender kiss that lingers for enough seconds to draw a soft smile out of her.

"I'm sorry, baby."

"I'm sorry, too," she whispers when Elsa leans back. "I _know_ she'll still be around but can we not let her get in between us again?"

"Couldn't agree more."

"And you have to remember," she adds, "that if something or someone is bothering you, you can tell me. You don't have to bottle things up, Elsa. _Especially_ if we're gonna be hating on the same person."

Elsa gives her a little grin. She nods once, resolutely. Then she asks: "Can I scooch in with you?"

There is nothing but love on her face when she says, "You don't even have to ask."

The blonde crawls over until she is sitting beneath the covers with Anna's arm wrapped around her shoulders and her own hugging tightly at her waist. 

"Where did you go by the way?" Anna asks. "When you stormed out."

"...I didn't storm out."

"Uh, yeah you did. Fiery eyes, door slamming shut, the whole shebang."

The blonde looks up at her with a sheepish expression. "Yeah, that was very cringy. The door was lighter than I thought it would be... I almost stormed back in to apologize."

Anna laughs. It is hoarse and brief, but the amusement is there. Of course Elsa would consider apologizing—to Anna _and_ to the door.

It had been the deck, she tells her after Anna is done teasing her. She offers to take her but Anna is much too content by now with the girl in her arms. "But tomorrow," she says.

Tomorrow, when all of this will be nothing but a memory.

* * *

There is something about mornings that changes the outlook of things. As though it were shining a new light upon them, making them clearer, less marred by heavy thoughts. Like a catharsis displayed by the first rays of sunlight that seep through the window.

Anna lies awake with Elsa's head on her chest, playing with the tresses of her hair. She's thinking of last night, but even more so, of the future. Of Elsa's six months in London.

She wonders how tough the distance will really be. If things will change between them. Will Tracy become a real problem? She closes her eyes and tilts her head in order to rest her lips against her girlfriend's forehead. She really hopes not.

"Anna," the blonde grumbles.

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking?"

"What makes you think I'm thinking?" She cringes. Dumb question. Dumbly worded.

Elsa pulls back to stare at her. Her hair is tousled, her eyes are puffy. How can she still look like a show-stopper?

"Just something I can tell. Like you can tell when I'm worried."

She bites her lip. "I was just thinking about you... and London."

"And last night, too?"

Anna nods and the brightness in the blonde's eyes dims.

"I'm sorry..."

"No," she hushes. "It's not the argument I'm thinking about. I guess... I'm just hoping it doesn't happen again. Not because of her."

"I don't want it to happen again," Elsa says softly. "I think the biggest problem last night was me not opening up."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Never feel like you can't, Anna."

She assimilates those words. Then: "Why did you shut off in the first place?"

The blonde holds her gaze but this time Anna doesn't struggle to discern what goes on behind her eyes. Because here in bed, and alone with each other, Elsa's eyes are nothing but intimately vulnerable.

She is an open book and Anna is her most avid reader.

"I don't know," she whispers. "I wish I could tell you. I wish I knew it myself... But I've always kept things in when they bother me and I know it's not good but it's almost like a reflex, and the more people push the more I distance myself."

Anna looks away. "I pushed you too much, didn't I?"

Elsa pats at her mane of a bed head with love and a dash of amusement. "We just deal with things differently, Anna. I know you would have already given me a list of a hundred things you hate about Tracy along with a Power Point presentation of why she's just so annoying. For me, the less I talk about her the better."

"I understand..." And goodness gracious, she does. She had to learn it the hard way, but there it is now.

A hand sneaks under her shirt and is laid flat against her belly. "It doesn't mean that I'm secretly harboring feelings for her."

"Okaaay," she drags out.

Fingertips begin to dance and tickle the skin above her belly button. "Or that I find her attractive."

"I believe you," she giggles.

"I mean I don't know if you've noticed but redheads are kind of my thing."

The hand is beginning to make its way towards her waist, and Anna squirms. "I'm the only redhead you know, Elsa," she says through a laugh.

"I stand corrected. You're kind of my thing."

Anna never stood a chance in this tickle attack; her girlfriend had a head start since the beginning.

They are the last ones to get out of bed. However, this isn't the rarest occurrence of the morning—nor are Anna's screams for mercy. The rarest occurrence is the commotion happening in the kitchen after Eugene and Rapunzel's decision to make—no, _attempt_ to make—chocolate chip pancakes.

There are more ingredients than are probably necessary on the counter while the couple argues over the fact that they should have bought the pancake mix instead of the basic stuff.

"None of the recipes I found online used a pancake mix, Eugene. There's gotta be a reason for that."

Kristoff is setting up the coffee machine as far away from them as he can and it is he who spots the girls patting into the kitchen first. He greets them both and advises them to stay close to him unless they want to get involved in the pancake debacle that's been going on since those two came back from the grocery store.

"It's a riot," he tells them. "If I knew it would be this crazy to make pancakes I would have suggested cereal."

Sven comes running in from the deck. He jumps at the sight of them, wagging his tail and licking whomever's hand he can reach first. Anna ruffles his brown, furry head distractedly while she looks over at Rapunzel reading the ingredients out loud at her boyfriend.

"I'm just gonna read this to you one. More. Time. All-purpose flour—"

"Check."

"Baking powder—"

"Check."

"Salt—"

"Check."

"So how are you two?" Kristoff asks them.

The girls look at each other in confusion before Elsa responds: "We're... alright?"

He rolls his eyes. "I mean I eventually caught on to the tension last night," he says as he turns to the coffee machine. He forgot to start it. "So how are you guys, for real. Am I gonna have to turn this into a couples' therapy retreat?"

"—oh shit, I had to whisk the dry ingredients first. Eggs aren't dry, why didn't you tell me!?"

"I thought you read the instructions!"

" _You're_ the one doing it—"

"I think you'll just have those two as clients for now," Anna chuckles. She turns to Elsa who gives her a warm smile.

Her girlfriend eventually decides that she's heard enough bickering somewhere between the heating of the skillet and the first layer of butter. She steps in with the patience of a Buddhist monastic, sets the two apart, and takes over. "You're getting on every single one of my nerves," she tells them with a murderous smile. Anna becomes her aide-de-camp, which really just means standing by her side, chatting and passing over the batter.

When all the pancakes are wolfed down they set out to pack their bags. They're meant to spend the day at the lake's beach; something Anna didn't even know was a thing but there's always something new to learn every day.

Nevertheless, the time has come for Elsa to wear her black bikini and Anna would _build_ a beach if she had to.

It seems to be too early still for a proper beach crowd and only a few people are hanging around the shore when they arrive. Like a rocket, Sven swishes past them, jumps in the water, them comes back out. He runs after Kristoff. Kristoff speaks to him in his weird animal-talking-voice, and Sven runs back to the lake.

As soon as they choose a spot Anna turns to her girlfriend. The blonde is wearing a black swim cover up blouse and jean shorts, but the real deal is hiding right underneath.

"Elsaaa," she bemoans lowly. "Come _on._ You're doing an injustice to the rest of us mortals by not showing off that bikini."

The blonde stares at her. "There's only like ten people here, Anna. Three of them we know."

"Seven people you're doing an injustice to," she retorts.

"Your arguments are fallacious but okay." She discards her shorts first, showing off her thighs and that sinful black bottom. Then, after a moment of hesitation, her blouse falls off her shoulders.

But what is it about bikinis? Anna has seen Elsa in her undies. She's seen her naked—too many times to count at this point. And anyways, a bikini is just underwear you can wear in public. So why does Anna feel extremely flustered at the sight of this woman whose only fault was to have won the lotto right before she was born? She doesn't know, and most importantly, she doesn't care. Elsa is hot. Elsa is her girlfriend. Elsa is staring at her with an overtly amused grin.

"Anna, close your mouth. You'll catch a fly."

The blonde sits by her side with a dash of self-consciousness that Anna tries to appease with a kiss on the cheek.

"There are no flies here. Also, you're gorgeous."

"A bee then," she smirks. "Also, have you _seen_ yourself?"

Rapunzel lies down close by, plugs her headphones in, and tells everyone not to bother her. She's getting her tan on, thank you very much. Eugene and Kristoff head for the water with a soccer ball. Sven tags along.

Anna sits watching everyone and everything around her. There is a large family with two kids brawling about who gets to use the boogie board first. They opt for diplomacy and play rock paper scissors. The little girl wins. The older brother fumes and kicks at the sand. The adults remain deep in their talk about whoknowswhat. Elsa has settled next to her with an extra towel propped behind her head for support. She is reading a book: _Human Heart, Cosmic Heart_ and Anna makes a mental note to ask about it later.

She pulls out her polaroid camera and aims it at her girlfriend. She waits for a couple of seconds in case Elsa decides to look at her. When she does, resting the book on her chest and with her face lightly scrunched up to keep the sun from hitting her too hard, Anna pushes down the button.

Time goes by. The sun keeps on shining high above them. It is the boy's turn to play with the boogie board. Kristoff almost chokes on water when he races against Eugene. Rapunzel is starting to look like a peach. Anna flips herself over like a pancake.

Soon, a group of frat boys arrives with the raucous energy of being young and in charge. They sit a few meters away from them, which Anna doesn't care about until some of them start ogling her girlfriend.

Anna fumes in silence. She pulls Kristoff's towel out of his backpack and lays it flat on top of the girl's body.

"What's this for?" Elsa asks.

She doesn't miss a beat. "They keep looking at you."

Elsa's head turns to the other side. She locks eyes with one of them; a boy with dirty blond hair and dull blue eyes whose stare Elsa holds steadily until he looks away.

_Oof,_ she thinks, _what a woman._

Minutes later she feels a towel being draped over her back. She turns to Elsa in bewilderment.

"They're looking at _you_ ," she whispers. 

Anna blushes but leaves the towel where it is. She doesn't want to look like a peach anyway.

From time to time, she glances over at the frat group. Some of them have left to play by the water but a couple of them remain where they are, chatting and sipping cans covered by brown paper bags. The glances they send their way are—Anna is now sure—directed at the blonde.

"Elsa, I really don't think—" She's cut off with a kiss. Elsa's lips linger, and when she's about to pull away Anna chases after them with a hand placed securely behind her neck.

When they separate she feels a little dazed and she doubts it's all from the heat.

"What were you going to say?"

"I forgot."

Elsa smirks.

Kristoff and Eugene join them eventually. Anna explains to Kristoff why she has his towel and he tells her to keep it, glaring at the boys as he does so. They wake Rapunzel up; she had passed out. She is looking very, _very_ red.

There are no more glances coming from any of the frats and Anna scoots closer to whisper harshly, "Did you see that?"

The blonde closes the book and sets it aside. "See what?"

"The guys arrive and they stop staring. This is the twenty-first freaking century and we are still objectifying women until _another_ man comes around."

Elsa considers this. "The objectification of women is a century old problem, sweetheart. Shall we fault the boys who will be boys, or shall we fault the relentless systematic pressure of being a _girl_ in a man's world?"

Anna blinks twice. Her mind is torn between continuing this conversation until they can knock it out of the park, or saying something so idiotic she'll knock herself out of the park. She chooses the later of course.

She wiggles her eyebrows. "I like it when you talk feminism to me."

Elsa bites her lips to keep herself from laughing. She leans in until her lips are brushing against the shell of Anna's ear and purrs: "Gender equality, defeat the patriarchy, Gloria Steinem..."

The redhead sniggers and ducks away. 

They stay at the beach for a few more hours. Anna coerces her girlfriend to get in the water with her, where she feels free to let go of her wandering hands. "Think of the children!" Elsa squeals when Anna tries to grab her butt for the umpteenth time.

After the pancake fiasco they opt for take-out pizza on their way back to the house. The boys suggest playing charades but when Elsa's blood drains from her face Anna persuades them to play a game board instead.

Scrabble is what they find in Kristoff's game pantry.

Another fiasco ready to happen.

" _Ananas_?" Eugene asks.

"Did you just make that up?"

"Ananas is not a word, dude," Kristoff states.

"Yes, it is."

"In English?" The blonde defies.

Anna retrieves the letters with indignation. "No one ever said anything about sticking to one language."

They keep on playing. Kristoff goes to the kitchen to get a beer and Anna asks for one too. Why this makes her feel empowered, she is not sure, but she is feeling competitive tonight. 

_Bring it on._

Kristoff comes back in time for his turn.

"J.E.E.B.I.E.S."

"That is—"

"This is outrageous."

"Jeebies _is_ a word," he argues. "Google it."

"Give me a sentence."

"Rapunzel gives me the jeebies."

Eugene rolls his eyes. "Just because you can make a sentence out of it doesn't mean it's a _word._ "

"What are you, a dictionary?"

Elsa is next. She takes her time, moving her set of letters away from the redhead's curious eyes.

"Fibrillation."

Kristoff groans.

"I hate this game—"

"Okay, who votes for kicking Miss Encyclopedia out?" Rapunzel raises her hand. Eugene does so too. Kristoff glances at them, then at Elsa, then at Anna who is giving him a death stare. He keeps his hand down.

Anna can only manage the word Cheese on the next round. _Bullocks!_ She screams in her head. She looks down at her letters: O. I. L. K. H. A. N.

This is ridiculous.

"Xanax!" Rapunzel screams.

"How do you even get two exes at once?"

"It's called luck, look it up."

Before someone flips the table they move onto UNO. Another mistake. Everyone starts with seven cards. After twenty minutes, Anna is already hoarding seventeen.

"Elsa, I swear if you give me another four I'll break up with you." 

The girl arches an eyebrow at her but her hand moves away from the card she was considering. She places a Skip card on the stack. Anna glares at her. The blonde bats her eyelashes.

More chaos ensues. Relationships are threatened. Rapunzel calls out injustice, demands a trial, Eugene was cheating. "What do you know, you look like a tomato!" Elsa swears her cousin is shuffling the cards wrong on purpose. "You keep getting the good cards—give me that." She shuffles them for the rest of the night.

Kristoff wins the first round, Rapunzel the second and, by miraculous intervention, Anna wins the third round.

They call it a night before anyone gets hurt.

Anna, high on her victory, forgives her girlfriend for any and all misconduct so she allows her to take her by the hand away from the bedroom and towards the deck. "I want to show you something," she tells her.

Outside, the breeze is gentle, as slow as the ripples of the water underneath. Anna sees more stars up in the sky than she has in all her years of living in the city while the moon, full and bright, casts its light down on them.

They sit on the bench they shared just yesterday, with Anna nestled against her girlfriend's body and her head resting on her shoulder. They talk in hushed tones, seeping into the quietude that only a night like this can provide. They giggle at each other, at the weird friends they've made out of the three people back inside the house, and despite the heightened emotions of the previous day, Anna can only relish the aftermath.

It is this she'll always wish to remember.

* * *

Three weeks go by, like a plateau of relative quietness that the girls attempt to get the most out of.

On mornings when the sun doesn't bear down on them like a hot cast iron, Anna accompanies her on a run. That is, Elsa runs and Anna does the same thing behind her for about fourteen minutes before she tells her to continue without her—"Don't wait for me, Elsa. Move on with your life. I'll be okay"—. The pros of this is that she gets to see Elsa's behind. That's a huge pro. Also, she _is_ improving. About two minutes every other day, but improvement nonetheless.

The cons... there are no cons. Anna enjoys this more than she ever thought she would.

They visit Theo a couple of times as well. She tells them that she's done her check-up and passed it with flying colors, or as flying as they can be when you're 83, she jokes. They spend time together; some time apart, too. This is mostly for Anna's sake because there are times when she prefers some solitude to write—and how _that_ is going is another matter (stupendously so)— because she has an idea in her mind that she's been constructing for the past couple of weeks, although she won't give out any details yet no matter how much Elsa tries to prod.

Some other days, they spend time in the company of their friends. The East Meadow in Central Park becomes their go-to spot because it fulfills everyone's little hearts' desires. Even Sven's. Especially Sven's. East Meadow is puppy heaven.

Tracy is not a thing of the past in its entirety but neither of them brings her up. It isn't out of avoidance, it is out of a lack of importance. Her shadowy presence in Elsa's life remains just that: a shadow.

For the time being, at least.

Elsa submerges herself in more books than Anna thinks is normal—even for her—because she is trying to grasp an accurate idea of what she will encounter in London (Anna thinks she is one book away from reading all about London's history) because these aren't just regular classes, she tells her, this is research and once she starts with it she will come back to _more_ research. Research and preparation for internal medicine and rotations. All in all, a continuum of sleepless nights. Anna had stared at her horrified and mildly worried even if, in reality, she knew this would happen. She is no expert but she's always known that the further you go into your medical studies, the less amount of sleep you get. It's something you know, the same way you know dentists use medieval tools of torture no matter how much you may try to convince Anna otherwise.

Today, however, Anna doesn't go for a run and neither does Elsa. They spend time in bed early in the morning, relishing in each other's warmth before Anna has to get ready for her second interview and Elsa for the first day of her trip's preparation week.

She talks very briefly with her dad on her way over to the station. It feels like a matter of touch-and-go with her parents but Anna can't exactly complain. There is only so much you can work on in a relationship that is ruled by distance.

The offices in suite 1004 are buzzing with more activity than they had been the last time she was here. Everyone seems to have settled in. From deeper inside the suite, she hears one or two phones sporadically ringing. Somebody treads past her towards the exit and few seconds later somebody else treads in. There are a few people milling around in the conference room, sipping unassuming coffee cups that probably cost five dollars each, and discussing the weather. Anna doesn't know any of this—she's taking a guess.

"Miss Summers?" She turns to the source of her name and finds a man approaching her. He is younger than she had anticipated but not by much. Anna guesses he must be in his late twenties, early thirties, tops. His smile is wide and confident, and she finds it easy to stand up with one of her own.

"Hi, that's me." She extends her hand and a small sense of déjà vu rushes through her mind. His handshake is firm and Anna tries (hopes) that hers is the same. She rehearsed it with Elsa that morning, so many times that they ended up turning it into a game of who gave the most tepid handshake out of the two.

She begins following him through the hallway as she shoots a polite smile at the receptionist. He is explaining to her that he's just arrived a couple of weeks prior, and hopes she doesn't mind the mess in his office. Does she like coffee? He has a Keurig. Anna says she does but no, thank you. The corridor is the same, and so are the offices. It is the same carpet; the same unmistakable but not unpleasant scent of cleaning supplies, but Anna no longer harbors the feeling of eager nervousness from her first interview. This time it is something more feeble; something easier to control with a couple of breaths. Like a knowledge carried at an unconscious level that this will turn out okay.

The office is the same that Lauren Hoffman interviewed her in, except that today it actually appears inhabited. Mr. Zimmerman sits down and Anna follows suit.

"So, Miss Summers," he says, reclining in his chair; a grin wide and easygoing. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Thank you," she smiles. "I'm excited to be here."

His cellphone rings and while he reaches for it to decline the call Anna takes a look at the posters that caught her attention when she first walked in. The walls are covered in them: Space Odyssey, The Shining, A Clockwork Orange. Anna finds it somewhat odd that those are movie posters and not books, but the peculiarity in them doesn't strike her the wrong way. In fact, it's the opposite. And it's not that those are her favorite movies—she's never seen half of them—but the fact that he seems to have chosen to decorate his office with his own personal tastes.

"You know Clarke wrote that story here in New York?" He asks her as he places his cellphone back on the desk.

"Did he?"

He nods solemnly. "At the Chelsea Hotel."

Her eyes go wide. "I was there!" She exclaims, catching herself a little too late. She tries to tone her excitement down a notch. "Sorry, I—uh, I was there for my birthday recently. I didn't know he stayed there too, that's very cool."

His laughter lacks any mockery. It's a relief. "That place is legendary," he says and Anna nods in agreement, lost for a second in the memory of being with Elsa at the lobby. The pen. That kiss. Anna smiles.

"Anyways," Mr. Zimmerman continues. "I don't wanna hold you up for too long so let's get down to business, shall we?"

Business is such a foreign word to her still. How do people sit when they discuss business? Anna crosses her legs then uncrosses them. She crosses them again. Her hands intertwine and rest on her knee.

"I know Lauren's already gone over the basics with you so I won't bore you with the same questions about qualifications and whatnot. Mostly, I wanted to get to know you guys so that I could make my decision, and _soon_... I just got here and the work is already piling up."

Anna smiles. She can see that. There's a pile of manila folders on the corner of his desk, another pile of correspondence, and yet another one with printed documents. She's already categorized those in her mind: miscellaneous. She thinks she can do this. She's not the most organized person in the whole world (she still loses her socks to the bottomless black hole that is the underside of her bed) but she also didn't spend three years shelving and categorizing hundreds of books for nothing.

"Don't judge me too hard," he jokes, noticing where her eyes have gone.

"I'm not," she laughs a little. She's warming up to him. "It's normal to have this much going on, especially when you've just switched offices from one coast to the other."

"I couldn't even begin to tell you." He shakes his head in disbelief before he reaches for the pile of manila folders, picks a handful up and waves them at her. "These are all pitch works and query letters, and it takes me _hours_ to go through a pile like this."

Anna bites her lip, unsure of what to say. She can't exactly say Geesh, that looks like quite an awful lot of boring work, mistah.

But Mr. Zimmerman is already moving on. He tosses the folders back onto the pile, mumbling about dealing with that later. "You also know the basics about being an assistant, of course."

"Sure. Arranging schedules, setting up meetings, answering phone calls..."

"The whole shebang," he grins.

She nods and mirrors the expression.

"So it's easy," he says, relaxing once more in his chair. "On paper... I just want you to be prepared, however, because I like to work at a fast pace; I won't sugar coat things for you. I mean, this is a literary agency and I'm no Wolf of Wall Street but still, the job can be very hectic. You'll have to travel with me to LA or Seattle or wherever the job calls, which won't be often—but _will_ happen." He pauses, thinking over his next words. "You may be an assistant but I also want someone who has an opinion of their own, you know? Because you'll be meeting most of the people I encounter. Writers, publishers, editors... I don't need someone who can bring me coffee, I need someone who has _presence..._ Do you think you can do that?"

Anna allows herself to actually consider this despite knowing there are only two options. Say yes and maybe—hopefully—get that job, or say no and might as well stand up to leave. She'll get to travel, she'll get to know this business from the inside, she'll get to know people who can later on help her build her own career. Anna is ready. She _knows_ she can do this.

"I'm up for the challenge," she says.

Mr. Zimmerman claps once, delighted. It feels like sealing a deal. "This is good. _Great_ even." Then, a thought: "How old are you, Miss Summers?"

"Anna is okay."

He points at her with a smile. "Anna, then."

"I'm twenty-two."

He nods solemnly. "You're young. Not that I'm old," he laughs, "but I know that being your age and a newbie in a business like this can be tough... Hoffman mentioned you want to be a writer, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"It _will_ be hard, Anna. But I can tell you're someone with determination. I like that. It's a good thing to have."

Anna thanks him wholeheartedly.

They speak for a few more minutes about work and about what it entails to be a writer in a city like New York. Anna finds herself more and more drawn to the business and to this agency in particular, for the people she's met have been welcoming and willing to take her in as one of their own. In the company of Lauren Hoffman and Mr. Zimmerman she feels not like an amateur college graduate but as someone with potential, someone who can actually make it.

When she stands up to leave, her chest feels as though it's blooming with pure excitement. Mr. Zimmerman has made his decision.

"I hope you like working around here, Anna."

"I'm sure I will." She accepts the extended hand. This time she doesn't have to think about how strong her handshake is; her gratitude is reflected in it. "Thank you so much, Mr. Zimmerman."

"Please," he says with a grin that will become his staple. "Call me Hans."


	20. Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm very sorry for the weeks I took this time to update. After chapter 19 it took me like a week and a half to adjust to this quarantine thing but I finally feel like I'm on track again. I truly hope you guys like this one, and that you haven't given up on me! Please stay at home as much as you can, and stay safe. Take care of yourselves, always. I love you all.  
> ps. a huge shout out to Dani, for the planters, the badgering, and everything in between <3

There is something about a nearly empty campus that Elsa has always secretly enjoyed.

She has never been able to pinpoint what it is. It might be the comforting stillness, or the way people seem to slow down their very actions against a silent backdrop. Perhaps it is the quietude in an otherwise chaotic environment where students go back and forth running late for class or sharing a rambunctious conversation by the entrance of the cafeteria. Maybe it is that she has always relished solitude so much more than being surrounded by strangers, even though the campus isn't exactly an angsty-ridden pack of sardines. Or maybe it just is that she gets to walk around in leisure without the thought of having to be studying at the library or on her way to a classroom.

Regardless of the reason, Elsa has chosen to take advantage of it as much as she can—while she _still_ can. Because tomorrow will mark the official countdown both in her mind and in Anna's made up calendar: Seven days until she boards a plane bound to London.

The thought ignites an elation that is soon reflected in the way that she walks across the lawn, purposefully and lightly. Classes won't be starting in another month and the few people that are scattered around campus barely give her a second glance. The calm all around her gives her the opportunity to indulge in her quiet excitement without the stains of self-consciousness. Elsa can't recall the last time she was excited at the prospect of doing something for herself and sure, the research trip had never been her idea to begin with and she knows she wouldn't have applied had she not been invited, but the thought of having accepted for her own sake; for the sake of doing something she loves to do, is something she rarely ever did. It was refreshing and satisfying, and a good reminder that she should be doing it more often.

She looks up to the sky and thinks briefly of how proud her parents would have been. Rapunzel's parents had been ecstatic when she'd told them about the trip months ago but then again, they have the tendency of getting excited at many things—just last week they had been thrilled to announce that they had redecorated the entire living room.

Elsa thinks her parents would have enveloped her in a hug, and if she searches hard enough inside the confines of her memory, she will be able to imagine it just so. Her dad would have been the one to constantly ask for pictures of London while she was there, and her mom would have asked for as many details as she could give about the research progress.

Maybe, even, they would have visited her. They could have gone on a touristy rampage, she muses. Elsa could have taken them to the London Eye even though her dad was weary of heights—he would have insisted on it anyway—, before going to the Buckingham Palace to wait around for the Queen just like the hundreds of other tourists who think she lives there when she really doesn't. Her mom would have been right at home with how much she loved rainy days, and Elsa could have taken them to the café she would choose as a favorite—because that's what Anna had told her: "Find a favorite café in every city you go to, Elsa. It's a rule"—and they could have ended the trip with three tickets to the Royal Albert Hall, because dad used to be a classical music aficionado, and she and her mom used to giggle at the antics of the orchestra's conductor just to rile him up.

As she crosses the freshly mowed lawn (so green it looks artificial) Elsa allows this nostalgia to wash over her like a deep breath reaching into the farthest corners of her chest, before she lets it go. She's been finding it just a little bit easier to do this lately and she thinks it might be because the good seems to finally be outweighing the bad; like rays amongst dark, heavy skies. She knows her parents are not here anymore, but there can't be any harm in creating memories she'll never get to live if they still manage to bring a soft smile to her face.

The Student Service center stands hidden in one of the corners of the campus. It looms over Elsa with its red, decadent bricks and its unfriendly, ancient facade and as she walks through its doors she can't keep herself from thinking just what on earth drove an entire team of architects to put Greek Doric look-alike columns on every entrance of every building in Columbia.

She steps inside the elevator and presses four.

The smooth ride up gives her some time to psych herself; to recall Anna's words and remember that not everything has to be about control, and not everything has to be run on impulsive reactions that will only end up leaving her with a bitter taste in her mouth. They'd spent almost the entirety of their breakfast discussing the pros of being more... open. Although open wasn't quite the word and not even Anna—a writer—could manage to find the exact definition. But Elsa got the gist, while the fact that she could now talk to Anna about it more openly was something she kept berating herself over not only because they would have been able to skip the drama, but because she also wouldn't have bottled things up... as usual. The whole point was not to react like a hissing cat every time Tracy uttered a word; a comparison Elsa had not appreciated at the time but one she could not refute. She knew it was true.

So today she would be trying on a different approach. An aloof one—too cool for school. She would fake it til she made it.

She runs into Tracy almost as soon as she's out of the elevator. Not entirely an unexpected sight but one that still causes Elsa to falter in her steps.

"Hey," the brunette says, smirking. No 'Ice Queen' this time and for that she is mildly relieved. "I wasn't expecting to see you until later today."

Elsa takes in the relaxed confidence of her posture and for a moment she wonders if it is all too real or if the girl's just that good at pretending. She chooses not to dwell, however, because Tracy is raising an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response.

"I like to get things done sooner rather than later," she states.

The girl nods, impressed, before her attention shifts to a notification coming in from her phone. She types something on it while simultaneously taking a sip of her coffee. It takes no more than a few seconds but Elsa is bewildered by the seemingly lack of interest. She glances around but sees no one else who can help her. Wasn't Tracy the one who's supposed to give her the documents she needs for the trip?

"Here," Tracy says, putting her cellphone away in the pocket of her dark blue jeans. "Follow me."

She complies silently up until they reach the door that leads to the backside offices with a sign that says FACULTY AND STAFF ONLY.

"I'm not sure I'm supposed to go in," Elsa mutters.

The brunette chuckles. She props herself against the door, smiling at her as she says: "What's life without a little bit of rule breaking?"

Elsa raises an eyebrow at her while the arms that have been crossed over her midriff since running into Tracy tighten in a stance of defiance.

Tracy rolls her eyes. "Jesus, relax. Half of the staff is still on vacation—nobody's gonna stop you with a taser. I'll just give you the papers and you can go."

Although still unsure and unappreciative towards the sarcasm, Elsa follows her. Tracy wasn't lying when she said that half of the staff was out. Only a handful of cubicles are occupied, and about half of those people are actually getting any work done. Two ladies by the corner seem to be knee-deep in gossip, and Elsa could swear a third lady is reading Fifty Shades of Grey. _There goes our tuition_ , she thinks with mild amusement.

They pass by a guy leaning back on his chair and playing Candy Crush on his phone. Tracy loudly hits the panel of the cubicle before he slams his phone face down on his desk in a startle and nearly falls off his chair.

"Jesus _fuck_ , Tracy," he whispers harshly.

The brunette laughs out loud, tells him to get back to work, and Elsa flashes him an apologetic smile that looks more like a grimace.

"You want coffee?" She asks the blonde as they resume their walking. "It's shit but it's still coffee."

The bluntness surprises her. "No, thanks."

She flashes her a lopsided smile. "How's little miss redhead?"

Of all things she and Anna had discussed this morning Tracy asking about Anna was not one of them. In reality, they had not discussed any possibility other than her usual self-absorbed comments, of which she had not said anything yet. Was that surprising? A little. But would Elsa be willing to admit that this alleviated some of her own tension at having to interact with her? Only to herself—and to Anna, later in the day.

"Anna is good," she finally responds before feeling the need to add: "She's my girlfriend."

As they reach Tracy's cubicle the girl turns to look at her with an arched eyebrow. "Nothing surprising there," she mutters and reaches for the drawer.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she shrugs.

Elsa suddenly feels impatient to go. She accepts the manila folder that Tracy hands over to her and mumbles a 'Thank you.' She stalls for a second, unsure if she should say anything else and deciding against it before she begins to make a leave.

"Elsa."

She sighs sharply, but turns back around.

Hazel eyes gaze directly into her own but this time Elsa doesn't falter. She stares back at her, sensing some control over her own emotions; and what an irony that is, she'll think later, that she gained control by letting go of the death grip she tried to have on it all this time.

"Look, all joking aside," Tracy begins, "there's no reason for this to be so awkward all the time."

Her eyes narrow for a second. "It's not awkward, Tracy. The problem seems to be that you can't take no for an answer."

And there it is: the smugness behind her sharp gaze. "When was the last time I actually hit on you?" She asks her.

Elsa stays silent.

"Right." Her smirk grows before it falls into seriousness again. "Well, I'm looking forward to going to London with you, too," she states, taking another sip of her coffee and nodding at the blonde. "Let me walk you out, I don't want you getting lost in this maze."

Elsa takes a sharp intake of breath for the sake of patience. Fake it til you make it, Anna said. "It's just straight down and to the right."

"I insist," she says with her hand over her heart.

The blonde rolls her eyes. She makes a leave without turning back to see if Tracy's followed, which, of course, she has.

"You know, Park mentioned your essay the other day," she tells her. They pass by Candy Crush guy, who is back at it with a vengeance but whom Tracy chooses to ignore this time. "Apparently it was rather impressive—the whole being humane thing while still keeping your doctor morale..."

_What do you know?_ Elsa wants to say but bites her tongue.

"So I gave it a read."

Halfway through reaching for the exit's door she pauses and whips her head back around. "Why?"

"Why not? I know how to read, Elsa," she says sarcastically.

She regards her with sudden incredulity. "Are you always this sarcastic?"

The brunette stands her ground. Elsa can see her stopping herself from uttering what is probably another sarcastic remark. "I am not," she says, reaching past her for the handle of the door. Elsa catches a whiff of her perfume; subtle yet blunt; sandalwood with a hint of nicotine. "You just don't know me."

"Neither do you," she states softly, and steps away.

There is a chuckle from somewhere behind her. "See you next week, then..."

"Sure," Elsa responds as she keeps on walking, not turning her head around until she gets to the elevator.

* * *

It is Anna's last day at work today. She told Elsa three times this morning. The first one as a reminder to herself, because she had woken up all groggy and crazy-haired until her eyes had widened at the realization; the second one after she'd stepped out of the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around her head and her cheeky banana panties, because she could not _believe_ it was her last day—not after three years of arranging books that she'll now get to probably, maybe, read before the general public—, and the third one, directed straight at Elsa, because the plan was to pick her up at the bookstore and she could not be late and oh my gosh... the _last._ Freaking. Day.

So there Elsa goes, treading across the crowded subway station after having spent most of the day helping her cousin arrange a portfolio for her submission to one of New York's most popular amateur art shows. With good luck and enough talent—which she firmly believed her cousin had—Rapunzel could get a spot in October. The only downside of this is that Elsa would not be able to attend it.

As she exits, Elsa is welcomed by an expected reality. Union Square is currently undergoing its afternoon peak, which makes her suddenly recall how disturbed she had been the first time she was here some four years ago. She remembers being excited at the prospect of sitting down for some quality time with her book, but the park had been... odd. It went against most concepts she once had of a suburban park. Against its ubiquitous tranquility, its peaceful leisure. Union Square felt more like a park on steroids with its Hare Krishna chanting at the sky and at the ongoing flow of commuters that came and went (some joined) from one of the park's six underground exits. Elsa recalls the street artist creating intricate patterns on the ground with colored chalk, as well as the skaters getting in everyone's way, and the people protesting against yet another bill passed. She recalls the bearded man with awful detail, dancing around the park wearing a rainbow leotard and climbing boots, and how he had proclaimed that love was all around if only people would open their eyes. That same man had once gone inside the clothing store across from the park while Elsa thought it was hilarious that no one, not even the employees, seemed to mind because he was doing no harm to anyone, everyone here knew him and this was New York—welcome to the city. 

All in all, an interactive 3D experience more so than a park. But it was thanks to Anna that she eventually came to appreciate its quirkiness after spending a few afternoons this summer sitting on a bench while Anna fired story snippets at her based on the people they saw walking by. It was something that made her laugh immensely, as well as feel empathy for strangers she would otherwise pass by without a second glance. And that was something that she had come to love so profoundly about Anna; her ability to see more in people, to delve in deeper into a person's character and the possibilities of their own lives. Sure, she'd felt like that was an act of invasion at the beginning, but the way Anna made everything sound so free of judgement, and so detached yet so closely knit to the little gestures and quirks of every person they encountered was rather... like magic. She had no other way of describing it. How Anna managed to create something out of nothing; if that wasn't magic, then Elsa chose not to believe in it.

The security guard at the entrance of the bookstore is now a face she is familiar with, and Elsa greets him with a shy wave of her hand that he returns with a broad smile and a courteous nod of his head. He is an immigrant from Nigeria, Anna had told her once, so he spoke very little because his English wasn't very good, but kindness was a universal language, and Azi spoke it fluently.

She spots Anna almost immediately, standing a few stacks of books over between the newly released cook books and the stationery. When her girlfriend's eyes connect with her own she flashes her a soft smile and indicates that she'll be waiting where she is to give Anna the chance to finish talking to two of her coworkers.

Meanwhile, Elsa eyes a few books but refrains from taking a proper look at any of them because she knows the temptation would be far too great for her to ever win against. There is no point in buying books that she'll leave sitting in her shelf for five months. Besides, she's already chosen the ones she'll be taking with her—a grand total of two, much to her dismay—because Anna, of all people, had told her that she should pack rationally and two books were a good start. If she runs out of stuff to read, she'd said, London isn't exactly a medieval city; she can just go out and buy more.

"Come here often?"

Elsa smirks down at the books before turning to the source of her favorite voice. "I usually come to check out a girl," she says.

The redhead looks at her suggestively as she leans against the table with her arms crossed, miscalculating the distance and losing her balance for a second. Elsa tries not to laugh by covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

"And has this girl noticed you?" Anna still asks nonchalantly.

She takes a step closer and purrs, "I'd like to think that she has." She reaches for the girl's hand and tugs. "Although she has the attention span of a squirrel so she's probably forgotten about me already."

This earns her a not so playful smack on the arm. "Not appreciated."

"But I love you," she pouts, or tries. She's never been good at pouting.

A tongue sticking out at her is the first response she gets before Anna grumbles: "I love you too," and "Let's go, I'm hungry."

"Did you say goodbye to everyone already?"

"Pretty much." She shows Elsa the new tote bag she's carrying. "I'll show you all the goodies I got," she whispers. And if Elsa didn't know better she would think her girlfriend had stole them with the way she's whispering things.

When they reach the entrance Anna lets go of her hand to approach the man who is currently trying to explain to a customer how to get to Times Square from where they are. It comes out a bit butchered and with much hesitation, but he seems to manage well on his own after the woman thanks him and he nods sheepishly.

He welcomes the hug that Anna gives him, and for some reason the sight makes Elsa smile. The girl is never shy when it comes to physical affection and this, too, seems like magic to her; it is something she has never been able to learn on her own.

"Bye, Azi," the girl says. "I'll visit but make sure you borrow all the books Luke offers you, your English is getting better already."

"Thank you, miss Anna," he responds warmly; his accent made heavier by the raspiness of his voice. "We will miss you here and very good luck on your adventures."

Anna giggles. "It's just a new job, Azi."

"A new job is—" he pauses, looks for the word, finds it with a successful smile, "— _always_ a new adventure."

And on that they can all agree.

They walk out of the bookstore hand in hand just as Elsa hears her girlfriend sigh heavily before resting the side of her head against her shoulder. She allows her this moment of quiet contemplation. The recapitulation of all the memories she got to make in that bookstore. The reminder that not everything is permanent, no matter how much they may seem to be, and how things transform themselves; sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better.

"Where are we going?" Anna asks her after some time.

Elsa looks at the street they're about to cross: it is the 10th. "I have no clue."

The redhead hums and makes a sudden turn to the right, pulling her along. "I guess now we know?" She laughs.

"Let's go to Reggio. I miss that place."

The streets they navigate through are partially crowded with people from all walks of life—a group of rowdy teenagers who will most likely fail at getting into a proper bar tonight; a single lady pushing her folding grocery cart filled almost to the top with cat food bags; a white-collar man having a heated conversation through an old-school Bluetooth headset; somewhere in the far distance, a saxophone—while the hues up in the sky rapidly morph from bright, neon orange to an ocean deep blue. For the duration of the walk, Anna tells her everything about her last day. She tells her about the chocolate cupcake one of her coworkers had brought her and which Anna admits to having eaten in three bites. She explains how they were helping Azi improve his English by lending him ESL books from the basement and how good he was at remembering the quirkiest of words, like commensalism or pumpernickel. There is mention of the goodies again, but when she starts pulling them out of her bag Elsa stops her and tells her it's best that they do that when they get to the café. Her girlfriend was all but ready to show her everything right there in the middle of the street but Elsa knows she'd only end up getting too distracted to even walk.

Ten minutes later, they arrive at Reggio.

She had only been here once before, having loved it with a highly subdued, Elsa-like passion that only her girlfriend was capable of noticing. But it was the fact that Elsa got to share this space with her that she had loved the most, because there was something about Reggio that was both casual and intimate, with its dimmed hues and hushed tones.

They sit in the corner farthest from the entrance with Anna's back to the wall, right below a Caravaggio—three men, one supper. Its shadows dark; its lights veiled.

Neglecting the menus for the time being, the blonde sits and leans on the small, marbled table. "You can show me the goodies now," she tells Anna.

Her girlfriend mirrors the position until their faces are inches away from each other, drawing a grin out of Elsa. God bless these tables.

"You have to tell me how today went first."

Her grin falls, turns into a pout. She shrugs. "It was okay, I guess. I didn't feel so much like clawing her eyes out so that's progress, right?"

"Right," Anna nods solemnly. "Was she her usual bitchy self?"

Elsa thinks about this for a moment. Tracy had not been bitchy, nor had she really practiced any of her usual flirtatious remarks on her. In fact, she had been... nice. Borderline, at least. She got annoying towards the end but then again, there had been a shift in her personality that only after Elsa had left was she able to notice. Tracy had acted a bit closer to a normal human being; not entirely a fabrication of every character trait Elsa abhorred in a person.

"She wasn't," she admits quietly.

A young man comes to take their orders. Anna jumps at the opportunity to ask for a glass of red wine and Elsa follows suit. "Do you want a bottle instead?" He asks. Why not? They both nod. The occasion calls for it; the night is young.

As he walks away, Elsa is brought back to a specific memory. "She asked about you, too."

Anna is taken aback, a finger pointing at herself. "Me? Why me?"

She shakes her head slowly. "I don't know. She asked how you were and called you little miss redhead or something like that."

The girl narrows her eyes. "Conniving."

"It was strange," she concedes and goes on telling her everything about their exchange. From the guy playing Candy Crush to the odd truce offered by the brunette. On this, she dwells for a moment, watching as the waiter comes back with a bottle of Cabernet and opens it before pouring the red wine into a pair of Bordeaux. "She asked me when was the last time she'd flirted with me," she mutters after he leaves.

The wine goes untouched.

"And what did you tell her?"

"Nothing."

Anna tilts her head. "Why?"

"Because I really can't remember the last time she did."

She watches as the redhead considers this. It gives her the time to tune her senses to the rest of the place. It is starting to fill up. Another Friday night.

"You say she didn't flirt with you during the week that you guys were preparing for the trip, right?"

Elsa goes over her memories. "She didn't." In reality, the girl had barely talked to her which was refreshing, but Elsa had only attributed it to the fact that they had all been busy doing actual work.

"Well... I think... I'm glad."

She taps the back of her girlfriend's hand with her index finger. The action makes Anna's hand connect loosely with hers. "Words, baby."

A heavy sigh escapes through Anna's nose before she leans on the table again. Her gaze focuses on the glass of red wine in front of her. "I mean, her not flirting with you doesn't exactly make me trust her, but I do feel glad that you might not have to put up with that anymore... especially cause I know how much it gets to you when she does."

Elsa grimaces. "I'm still working on that, I promise..."

Anna gives her an affectionate look. She knows. "Do you want us to talk more about it?"

There is a difference between forcing a thought out of her mind and allowing it to fade out on its own, like the natural course of things. Elsa shakes her head slowly but surely, because this time, she can tell the difference.

The redhead grins, pushing up the freckles on her cheeks and making her teal eyes light up in the dimness of the room. "I'll show you my goodies then."

Elsa turns her attention to the glasses of wine standing on the table. She reaches for her own and lifts it up. "But first, a toast."

"To..."

"New adventures," she declares.

A transformation. Sometimes for the better; sometimes for the worse.

The food arrives soon after this, and Anna finally gets to show off her parting gifts over red wine and ravioli. Her hair is swept up in a messy bun, missing a few tresses of red hair that freely frame her face. Between her looks and the delightful mood she's in, Elsa feels enamored.

"So Luke gave me a book of Sappho's poems which is highly stereotypical in my opinion—but I freaking _love_ it."

Elsa accepts the item, feeling its weight before she opens it at random.

_You came. And you did well to come._

_I was waiting for you; your fire burns my heart,_

_it flames._

_I forgive you all the endless_

_hours that you were away._

"One of the finest lady lovers out there," Anna declares.

Elsa chuckles and softly closes the book before handing it back to her. "You're not so bad yourself," she teases.

"Myself notwithstanding. I am _the_ finest _._ Ask my girlfriend."

The blonde laughs.

"They also gave me this bookmark," Anna continues. 

Elsa reads what's written on it out loud: "If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't... fuck them..." She gives it back with a straight face. 

Anna nods, clearly excited by the crude language and blatant suggestion. "Funny, right? I'm glad you had a bookshelf at home."

Elsa leans closer. "Need I remind you our first time was at _your_ place?"

There is a pause in which the redhead swirls the Cabernet in her glass, feigning aloofness. "I do remember that."

"Of course you do," she smirks and finishes the last of her wine. She reaches for the bottle, serves Anna first, then finishes it off on her own glass. A second bottle appears imminent at this point. "So what's left of your goodies?"

A vintage postcard. Anna shows it to her with quiet pride that seems misplaced until she explains, "They let me choose and I took this one because I wanted to give it to you."

The front of the card has a classic blue skyline against an orange background. The words _GREETINGS FROM NEW YORK_ _CITY_ cover it from one side to the other with famous landmarks fit inside New York City's letters: the Statue of Liberty, the Rockefeller, the Empire State Building. Elsa eyes it with curiosity until she flips it over.

On the back of it, two single sentences: _I miss you already, but I love you so much more._

The statement tugs at her heart with a sudden longing for the girl sitting across from her. Elsa lifts her head up in order to see her but decides that this is not enough. She stands up from her chair, stepping around the table to sit next to Anna. In the girl's arms, she is hit with an emotion that sets its roots deep inside her heart. How can she miss her so when she is right here?

"I love you," she whispers.

Anna kisses her deeply and unreservedly, and amongst the resonance of the café Elsa's senses zero in on the sensation of her soft lips against her own.

"I've decided to send you postcards," she tells her when they part. "Is that okay?"

Elsa smiles, cradles her freckled face in her hands, and kisses her nose. "Why wouldn't it be? We could be one of those couples that grows old and shows off the letters they used to write to each other to everyone in the family."

Something flashes across Anna's eyes just as Elsa catches the meaning behind her words.

"You want to grow old with me?"

"For as long as you'll have my wrinkly self," she responds in a low voice.

"You can't say stuff like that and then leave me here for five months, you know?"

The soft laugh that escapes her is bittersweet. Her arms drape over Anna's shoulders once more before she holds on tight and breathes in the scent that she will find herself missing every day. Her heart is pounding softly against her chest, longing with every beat for the girl who has it.

Suddenly, a week doesn't feel like long enough time.

After little resistance on Elsa's part a second bottle of wine arrives at the table. Her coherent thoughts become a bit of a mush after this. She giggles a lot, and most of the things that come out of Anna's mouth become ten times funnier. Her girlfriend turns into a bigger flirt than she already is and Elsa tries an attempt of her own with verbose compliments, lots of eyelash batting and Shakespeare quotes that sound accurate but in reality are abysmally misplaced. It is their last date before Elsa leaves but in their obliviousness lies their delight. They enjoy each other's company without the impediment that is the thought of parting; as though this night could last forever.

In the end, they stumble all the way home, giggling like two teenagers in love.

* * *

The air is chilly bright and early on Saturday morning. It enters her lungs deeply and without restraint, lingering for a second before she exhales sharply through her nose. She does this over and over again, falling in tempo with her feet hitting the concrete that delineates the city's edge along the East River. Every time her sneakers connect with the ground she feels tension shooting up her calves and straight to her thighs. The harder she runs, the more exhilarating it starts to feel.

It is this sensation which she has always loved about running. Reaching the point of near exhaustion, only to break through it on a high; to feel her chest burning from exertion as she wills her lungs to keep up with her pace, if only just for a few more minutes.

Her long legs extend far beneath her as she sprints the last few meters back to her starting point. She smiles at the sight of the Brooklyn Bridge in the far distance, then grins at the old gentleman that always sits on a bench with his German Shepherd on Saturday mornings. He responds to this with a tip of his hat. They know each other, but they don't; like two strangers sharing the same routine.

She makes a turn towards 6th Street, walking the rest of the way back home. The streets are quiet, barely occupied by early birds just like herself.

At the bodega below her apartment, Luis is pushing up the coiling door to begin his day. Elsa greets him and asks about his wife. They are both fine, he says, promising to say hi to Marta for her. He then offers her some fresh coffee and Elsa hesitates for a moment before accepting. In the end, she takes three up with her after paying for them despite Luis insisting that it is just coffee—a dollar and ninety for each—not exactly the greatest of losses.

The apartment is not the same serene state that she left it in a little over an hour ago. There is chaos coming from the kitchen at the hands of both her cousin and her girlfriend.

Elsa watches them in silence, suspicious of the way Rapunzel is trying to prepare an omelette and amused by the fact that Anna can't seem to reach the mug she often uses when she stays over.

She places the carrier down on the counter and announces: "I will fear for this kitchen for as long as I'm gone."

Both girls turn around simultaneously before Elsa takes a step back, fearful of the spatula Rapunzel is holding as though it were a weapon. "You scared the shit out of me," the brunette mumbles.

Anna skips around the counter, the mug all but forgotten on the edge of the cabinet. The girl's arms are thrown loosely over her shoulders before she drops a lingering kiss on the blonde's lips.

"You're salty."

"Sorry," she grimaces. "How are you feeling?"

"Not hungover, but not great either."

She chuckles then asks, "Did you guys make coffee already?"

"We were heating up the water," Rapunzel responds, turning to the stove and turning off the flame. She then looks down with disdain at her creation on the pan. "I think something's wrong with my omelette."

"You put the fillings in too soon," Elsa states before walking over to the fridge and handing the creamer to her girlfriend.

" _Dammit_!"

She ends up helping them make breakfast because she is too hungry to wait until after her shower to see how well they manage to fare. It is almost two hours later that she finds herself walking to the train station in order to make a trip she is all too familiar with.

Elsa gets lost in the sounds of the train: its steely rhythms, its constant rattle against the reels, its screech to a halt on every stop; the recorded male voice that tells people to stand clear of the closing doors, please. She gets lost far in her memories, recalling the time she and her project group had visited the center for the first time.

It had all been for research purposes. One of her teammates' father knew somebody who knew the director of Castle Senior Center. The thesis had been something or the other, a qualitative study on community based health care, but what Elsa recalls with exactitude is the way Theo had put a halt on their research, right in the middle of them conducting a generic poll. "Don't treat us like lab subjects," she'd blurted out from her usual place by the window. "Y'all will get better results if you treat us like human beings."

And she had been right. They'd soon set out to talk with everyone who lived in the center at the time. For most of the duration of the project, Elsa had been intimidated, because Theo's deep, brown eyes were awfully inquisitive and the way she said things was resolute, and wise, and all too real sometimes. And she had seen right through her, which often caused the two of them to deviate from her research onto things that Elsa would have never thought of discussing with any of her teammates, let alone a person she had barely just met. But Theo, with her warm pats on Elsa's cold hands, and her genuine laugh, and her unwavering presence in a room where life didn't so much feel like a certainty anymore, got through Elsa's walls one by one until their project had ended, and Elsa's excuse to visit was replaced by the wish to spend time with someone she looked up to.

When she arrives, she takes her time greeting everyone she finds in the drawing room. She doesn't see Theo anywhere around and after she's done hugging Margo she asks her if she's seen her.

"I can't see even if I wanted to, sweetie. These glasses are _shit_."

Elsa bites into her lips. The ladies in this house are feisty little things.

"Sergio, have you seen Theo?" Margo screams over at the man sitting across the table from her reading Tolstoy.

"Ser- _gei_ , woman, how many times do I have to say it?" He says loudly, then more quietly to Elsa: "She's in the garden, malysh."

She thanks both but just as she's about to leave, Margo stops her. "Can you tell Theo that she owes me my apple sauce?"

Elsa giggles. Yes, she will.

The garden is a commodity she didn't know they had until after months of coming to the center. There are large pots on every side of the space with purple, orange and pink flowering plants sprouting over their edges. Dwarf trees stand tall from where they're rooted in beige colored planters, and during summer you can smell the fresh scent of greenery that is undeterred by the polluted air of the city.

She sees Greta talking animatedly with a nurse and near the far end of the garden, under the canopy of a tree, she finds Theo sitting in a chair and immersed in her journal. She approaches her slowly, because she now knows from experience that abruptly interrupting someone who is writing tends to throw them on a loop—a grumpy loop.

Theo lifts her head up when she senses her approach, letting out a quiet gasp at the surprise of seeing her.

"Oh, sugar!" She gets up in a swift but not effortless move. Her arms wrap around the blonde's shoulders before she parts just enough to place her warm hands on Elsa's cheeks; a motherly gesture that she welcomes with a grin.

She joins Theo in the chair next to her, watching as the elder closes her black journal but leaves it on top of her lap, resting both her creased hands over its cover.

"Before I forget," Elsa says, "Margo told me to remind you about her apple sauce."

Theo rolls her eyes like a berated teenager. "I gave her _two_ yesterday."

"You may want to remind her then."

"As if." She waves her hand in dismissal. "She'll forget again, darlin'. I've been owing her apple sauce for a year now."

At this, Elsa laughs.

"Where'd ya leave our sweetheart?" Theo asks her.

"I left her at home this time."

Theo tsks and shakes her head amusedly. "How is she faring with your departure?"

She thinks about this for a moment, realizing that she is not sure if she can give her an answer. "We haven't talked so much about it lately," she says. "I think we've been too caught up in other stuff."

"Tell me then," Theo begins, rearranging herself in the chair and placing her journal next to a cane Elsa hadn't noticed until now. It is the first time she sees her with one but she hesitates for far too long and the moment is gone before she can ask about it. "What have you two been caught up in?"

"Well... not so much me. I've been buried in books—you know me—and I've also been preparing for the trip, but Anna, she got a new job."

Theo bumps her fists halfway up in the air, her gold bracelets clinking against one another, reflecting little glimmers of sunlight. "I _knew_ it! What was it in the end? An agency? A publisher?"

"A literary agency," Elsa tells her, infected with excitement. "She's going to be an agent's assistant for now, but hopefully in the future she'll get to have their representation."

She recalls the memory of Anna showing up at her door, buzzing with energy and beaming from ear to ear. The way she had thrown herself at Elsa's arms had said it all: she had gotten the job. And Elsa had lifted her off the ground right there at the door, and Anna had squealed with delight while Rapunzel came out of her room confused out of her mind until her girlfriend explained everything and Rapunzel had joined in on the squealing. She had gone on a rant about the interview and her new boss who'd seemed nothing but great, and Elsa had been happy because things just felt like finally coming together.

"You're proud of her, aren't ya?" The elder grins, bringing her out of her reverie. 

"I am."

Relaxing against the back of the chair, Theo lets out a big sigh. "Ah, to be young and in love..."

Elsa smiles. Love is certainly what she feels for Anna. Hopeless at times, to the point where she gets lost in dreams of a future by her side; but vehement, always, because Elsa doesn't think it could ever end.

"You know, sugar," she continues softly. "Of all things I've experienced in my life, a love like yours ain't one of them... And it makes you think just how funny life can be sometimes."

"In what sense?"

Theo looks at her. Brown eyes wise; shimmering with a hint of nostalgia Elsa had never seen before. "Do you think it's possible to have everything in life?"

She hardly thinks of her answer. "No... Not really," she whispers.

There's a warm pat on the back of her hand. "It doesn't stop us from thinking that we do though, does it?"

Elsa looks on at a bee flying about the purple flowers not too far from them. She once read somewhere that bees had an unexplainable preference towards the color purple, and Elsa remembers thinking that bees were not so different from people in that way.

"It makes life easier, I think," she says.

"That it does. Especially when you're young... You can't take anything for granted."

She turns back to Theo. "Easier said than done, right?"

Theo chuckles lowly. "Shit doesn't get harder than that, darlin'. But you got a head full of dreams and a heart full of love, so you better hold onto those things for as long as you can. Cause one day you'll wake up, and you'll look at yourself in the mirror... and you'll realize that you're reaching the far end of your life without a damn thing to do about it."

Something unfamiliar tugs at her heart and Elsa can't tell exactly what it is, but it feels heavy against her chest. It feels like dread.

"Do you... are you scared?"

"Of being old?"

The blonde shakes her head timidly. She shouldn't have opened her mouth but the question is halfway out there now.

"Of death?" Theo asks, the word falling from her lips as easily as if she had said anything else. Gazing into Elsa's eyes, she sees affirmation. "I'll tell you the truth... death starts to enter one's mind more and more the older one gets, but it isn't death what I think of the most. What I think of are all the things I could've done right but didn't."

"But isn't regret inevitable one way or the other?"

"I've found that it is, but I've also found that there are some things you can choose to regret for the rest of your life, and some you can choose to change before it's too late."

Elsa stares into the distance, frowning. Theo catches her expression and laughs softly. "There's no hidden meaning here, darlin'. This ain't a conspiracy theory that'll make your head hurt. You just gotta live your life, and you gotta enjoy it while you're at it. I do want you to promise me one thing, though..."

"Okay..."

"The things you can change, don't waste your time regretting."

She process this before a giggle escapes her despite herself. "You're always being so cryptic, it almost makes me feel like you can read the future."

The elder looks at her with bemusement. "You're confusing me with that freaky woman from Harlem," she jokes. "I ain't reading your future, darlin'. I'm speaking to you from experience. "

She'll take it, Elsa decides, oblivious to the fact that she will look back to this moment with forlorn clarity.

"Elsa, honey, I'm very proud of you," Theo tells her, taking her hand in hers. The familial gesture, the weight of those words; they make her eyes burn with unshed tears. "You better enjoy London as much as you can. Freckles and I, and your quirky sounding cousin will all be here waiting for you when you come back."

The blonde laughs, keeping the tears that had welled on her eyes from falling. She reaches over to hug Theo, holding on tight for a few seconds before she lets go.

Theo's hand goes up to pat her cheek with affection. "You go get 'em, sugar."

* * *

The night before leaving is heavy with unspoken words.

Anna has been helping her pack the last of her items with relentless care; folding, unfolding, then folding again. She asks Elsa what she wants to be placed at the very top of her suitcase and Elsa tells her that it doesn't matter. It will all have to come out once she's at the dorm. Her girlfriend nods weakly, getting back to work. She mumbles something about the socks, about how she would have never been able to pack them in matching pairs. The joke falls flat, the attempt barely reaching the humor that none of them feel at the moment.

"I think I read somewhere that if you put the socks on the corners of the suitcase it'll make them receive some of the impact."

"What impact?"

"You know how they throw your suitcases around like they're sacks of potatoes?"

"Oh, right... I guess that could work."

Anna goes back to the suitcase on the floor.

"Did you pack up your toothpaste? Or are you gonna buy some over there? Maybe we should go out to get you one because the flight is like seven hours and you're probably going to want to brush your teeth as soon as you land—I know how freaky you get with your dental cleanliness—and did you pack an extra set of toothbrush? I lost mine once when my parents and I went to Seattle but then again that's me and I was twelve..."

"Anna..." She interrupts softly. "Sweetheart, stop for a second."

Her girlfriend does so reluctantly, stopping halfway through folding the purple NYU shirt Elsa had insisted on bringing with her.

"Come here," she says before extending her arms.

Anna's gaze falls to the floor. "I can't."

Elsa stands up from the bed then. She approaches the redhead slowly, enough to rest her hands on Anna's cheeks. The girl's eyes pierce through her heart. They scream love.

"What is it, baby?"

Anna tilts her head to the side, her lips searching for Elsa's palm. Her bright teal eyes disappear beneath her lids before she whispers, "I feel like if I stop, I'm gonna cry."

The confession pulls the air out of her lungs in a sigh. 

So gently, she tugs Anna's hands, guiding her back towards the bed. "Let's forget about the suitcase for a bit," she tells her.

They settle in bed, in the silence that surrounds them, living for a night that doesn't feel long enough anymore.

For months Elsa had known this day would come; like a distant memory, detached and without shape. She had known it was inevitable, simply reminding herself that five months weren't too bad; that five months would go by in a flash just like they had done so before during so many years of living in this world. But love, unlike time, was not relative. Love was constant and in the face of distance, love showed its true depth. And it is tonight, with Anna in her arms, that she finally gets to understand this.

She understands it in the way her fingertips trail across the skin of Anna's arm all the way to her hand, and in the way their fingers intertwine slowly, like an act of reminiscence.

And when they kiss; when their tongues meet. When Elsa undresses Anna with gentle persistence and when she lets Anna do the same; when they make love to each other in between soft murmurs and breathed confessions of love. When Elsa watches Anna arch her back in ecstasy and when she reaches an orgasm amongst tears of yearning. When they hold each other naked, and giggle at their impromptu love making; it is all done for the sake of memory.

Because in the end, with thousands of miles in between, that is all you can hold onto.

* * *

John F. Kennedy. 8 a.m. 

It is crowded and busy, like every international airport is meant to be. Elsa, Anna and Rapunzel pass by travelers from every corner of the world, looking for the sign that will direct them to British Airway's check-in desk.

Near the start of the line, Elsa spots Professor Park, Tracy and a few of the students she had already met during prep week. She waves in their general direction but stops short from being too close that they will all have to introduce each other. 

"So who's Tracy?" Rapunzel asks, sipping on a coffee the size of her face. Her brunette hair barely combed.

"A little bit louder for the people in the back please," Elsa mumbles.

Anna points with her head at the girl in question, who is thankfully oblivious to her cousin's lack of common sense.

"Ah okay, I don't like her already." She sips her coffee again, still staring. "She does have a nice sense of style though, casual but _cool_ , you know? And I like those ear piercings."

Elsa and Anna share a look before the blonde pulls her cousin farther away from the rest of the group.

"So is this gonna be like a casual hate group?" Rapunzel asks them. "Or should we come up with a name and stuff?"

The redhead giggles despite herself. Elsa only shakes her head in disbelief.

"We're not going to hate on anybody," she argues.

The brunette cups her mouth with her free hand and drawls, " _Boring._ "

Elsa isn't sure if she should reprimand Rapunzel's behavior but when she turns to her girlfriend and sees the first broad smile of the day, she can't help but let it go. So she reaches out to ruffle her cousin's hair instead and says, "You're a lost case."

"A lost case you will _miss._ "

"Yeah, yeah."

"But fear not," the girl adds, reaching for Anna's arm to hook with her own. "I'll learn how to cook in the meantime and I'll invite Anna over so that we can prepare a feast for when you come back."

The redhead widens her eyes.

"I'd like to see that happen," Elsa tells them. "But please make sure there's an apartment I can return to."

Professor Park approaches them just as Rapunzel is about to flip her off. She introduces the duo to the professor. Anna is uncharacteristically reserved, and Rapunzel is uncharacteristically formal.

Park greets them both with pleasantry before she turns to the blonde. "The rest of the group is here. We should get going."

An announcement that is expected but not any less similar to a heavy weight on her chest.

Rapunzel hugs her tightly, telling her to please take care of herself, that she loves her, and that she'll behave. When she steps back her green eyes are shimmering, teary. Elsa's eyes sting but she laughs because the girl is full on pouting, and the next thing she asks is nothing but purely Rapunzel: "Can I borrow your clothes while you're gone?"

She nods with a smile and hugs her one last time.

"Okay, imma go sit over there," the girl mumbles and leaves the two alone. 

The familiar weight of Anna in her arms is all she can focus on now. The softness of her hair against her cheek, and that floral scent that she will one day realize can never be found in anyone else.

"I miss you already," Anna says against her neck. It is barely heard; only aimed at the person who's meant to hear it.

"I miss you too, sweetheart..."

The redhead parts slightly. "Just five months... They'll go by fast, right?"

"Right." She pecks her forehead. "Faster than we think." Then pecks her nose. "We'll talk every day." And lastly, her lips. "And don't forget about the postcards."

"I won't," Anna smiles, briefly chasing after her lips. "I do want us to be that old couple."

"I love you, Anna."

Her head falls against the blonde's shoulder as she breathes her in one last time. "I love you too, Elsa."

They part ways with slow reluctance; with barely contained tears in their eyes and that constant, tireless love that bounds them together without any regard for physical distance.

Elsa spends the next seven hours day dreaming about images of London blending in with a pair of bright eyes and freckled skin. She looks out the window, thirty-six thousand feet above the ground, the sky blue and plenteous, and thinks of all the possibilities that lay ahead of her. To be young and in love, she recalls with a small smile. But to be in love with a wonderful person... and for Elsa—for the first time—to be in love with life at all.

Heathrow welcomes them with a busy crowd, like a mirrored reflection of New York's airport. They arrive at night, weary eyed and with crampy legs, but Elsa pays little mind to this because the most important thing for her right now is to find a souvenir store.

Once there, she buys a single item:

A postcard.


	21. Between two worlds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot to say in this one other than thank you so so much, again, for sticking around. A fair warning: lots of Hans in this one (sorry).
> 
> Stay healthy and stay safe, my friends... love you all.

Anna is waiting for Hans inside his office first thing in the morning when he storms in beaming from ear to ear.

He bids her a quick but cheerful good morning and she returns the gesture albeit slightly confused. She notices his outfit as he makes his way around his desk: a pristine white shirt tucked inside navy blue suit pants—a well-kept man, really; she can't help the thought. It is there in a flash and is soon substituted by her desire to be more like him in that aspect. It is the easiest way to reflect character after all, and her mother is always raving about character and about how she must look presentable at all times.

Speaking of which, she should call her back. She forgot to yesterday (a taste of her own medicine) but she should really call her today.

"So..." He starts, halting her train of thought. The grin is also suspicious, and his silence as he throws his matching blazer over the back of the La-Z-Boy only heightens Anna's curiosity.

She stares back at him from the chair she's been occupying most mornings for the past few weeks. Her eyebrows lift up in expectancy as a bewildered smile grows across her face.

"So... what?"

* * *

How did three weeks go by in the absence of Elsa?

Slowly, Anna would say. Tortuously so; like staring at the wall for a whole Sunday afternoon only to find out you've been staring at it for ten minutes.

She had gone home straight from the airport with a heavy sensation weighing down on her chest that only let go of some of its pressure after she'd said goodbye to Rapunzel at the train station in Queens. She had briefly considered stopping by to see Theo, but it had all been too much. Once she'd sat down inside the train bound for Manhattan she had released tears caused by a longing that fell not in a grieving outpour, but one by one, in a soft cascade down her cheeks before reaching her lap.

Avoiding the eyes of strangers hadn't been easy. Some people glanced her way; some showed her signs of sympathy that she didn't want. Because she was not heartbroken. She just really, really wasn't ready to acknowledge Elsa's absence.

But the trip had been long and somewhere between Brooklyn and Manhattan, a man had silently reached out from where he sat to hand her a tissue with a kind smile. She'd thanked him, self-conscious of the tears that wouldn't stop falling and cursing at her own sensitivity, even if he had paid her no mind after that, giving her the privacy she desperately wanted in an otherwise inconveniently public space.

At home, with eyes dried out of tears, she had thrown herself at her bed. Exhausted, breathing out a sigh long withheld.

In the following weeks Anna got to learn that missing Elsa was the expectation, but the extraction of her girlfriend out of her daily routine was something that she hadn't known how to prepare for. The thought of Elsa not being a train ride away. Of her not showing up at Anna's apartment after a run—or dragging her out for one—with her ponytail tousled, her cheeks reddened and a fool's smile on her face. The fact that she couldn't tell a random joke out loud and have Elsa respond with her soft, ever so timid laugh. That they couldn't spend an evening strolling through the city and end the night in each other's arms.

That Anna had to wake up in an empty bed day after day. That she had to hug her pillow tight while her nose searched for traces of Elsa's scent, only to have it begin to dissipate as the days went by, and to have it disappear completely after a while longer.

They texted every day—a given all along—, exchanging pictures of the sights in front of them. Anna sent her photos of the skyscrapers both knew so well; of the food she managed to cook by herself; of the little things she wrote about Elsa, _for_ Elsa. And her girlfriend... she enjoyed sending pictures of the park she had found near the dorms; of London and its buildings, and its streets, and its gorgeous sights; of the biscuits she was starting to become addicted to. It was a form of contact that did little in making up for the fact that they could only talk for a short period of time during most days, because Anna always got home from work right before Elsa had to sleep.

And what a tease that was. To watch Elsa wear that purple NYU shirt to bed with her blonde hair made up in a braid. That same hair she would often have down as they made love; a hair soft and long, cascading over her shoulder as she moaned her name. The same hair through which Anna's fingers had threaded so many times before.

And what was memory if not love's best weapon?

It all began to turn into a functional type of missing. Anna kept feeling like part of her was not there—nowhere near New York—but life couldn't stop because of that, and every day that passed she found herself reading Elsa's good morning texts and smiling at the new board that was starting to fill up with pictures of their memories together. Every day her thoughts and her memories mingled; a bittersweet taste of missing Elsa and genuinely enjoying her job.

Because work had been immersive right from the beginning. Hans wanted her to be involved in almost everything, not just in arranging meetings and receiving phone calls, but also with the insights of reading somebody's manuscript. She learned what Hans looked for in a writer. What he felt could work in the grand scheme of things and what had to be tossed to the side.

Throughout her first month she learned to write a rejection letter. To tell a stranger in as simple and neutral words as possible that they weren't good enough to be represented by this agency. Or at least, that was what she always thought. Because each time she did that it felt like discarding somebody else's dream.

However, Hans was incredibly open with how he worked and in return Anna had begun to feel comfortable enough to manage everything without pressure. Sure, she soon learned how fast he liked things to be done—too fast sometimes—and he tended to joke about movies Anna had never seen. But Hans was patient with her and most importantly, he was _nice_. He had the tendency to go down to get coffee with her rather than sending her out to get it, and he made her feel like she could always ask questions when she didn't understand something.

Slowly, too, she got to meet everyone in the office.

Cindy at the front desk was all smiles until you messed with the post-it notes she kept around the frame of her computer. Linden (or Landon or Lyndon) had his office right next to Hans' but he smelled like cigarettes all the time and so Anna only greeted him from afar. Rashida was a senior agent. She was very reserved and her heavy-lidded eyes always made her look like she suspected everyone, but she once smiled at Anna as they crossed paths in the hallway and that had put her at ease. Lauren Hoffman, the head of New York's office, popped in and out of the suite but Anna saw her frequently, and found herself admiring the woman more and more. She was far from bossy but her presence demanded respect whether she was in the room or not.

It had been Elsa to whom Anna had admitted that placing her next to Hans and Lauren made her feel important, and Anna remembered all too well what her girlfriend had said miles and miles away, through a camera that didn't do her justice.

She had told Anna that she didn't need anyone to be important, and it was the unspoken meaning behind the statement more so than her words that had made Anna blush and hide her face behind a pillow. Because Elsa believed in her without a question and that... that was starting to rub off on her.

"Your freckles do this thing when you blush," a sleepy Elsa had said afterwards. "They kind of blend together."

"Is that a bad thing?" Anna had asked.

The blonde had hummed distractedly, blinking slowly while a soft smile appeared on her face. "It is the cutest sight in the whole world."

That had only been two nights ago.

* * *

"I'm gonna need you to set up a hotel reservation for two rooms in Los Angeles—" Hans begins, pacing back and forth while Anna rushes to get her planner out of her bag, "—preferably at the Beverly Wilshire but if they have no vacancy you can try any of the Hiltons." He stops in front of his autographed poster of Taxi Driver, observes it for a moment, then turns to look at Anna. "I also need you to call up USC or the Times to make sure they have two tickets reserved instead of one—oh, and this is for next month by the way, the dates I'm not sure, you can check them online." He goes back to pacing. If Anna weren't so absorbed in her own notes she would have been exasperated by it. "If I have any meetings for those dates here, reschedule them. I'll also give you a list of the people I want to see in LA. Try to set up dinners, lunches, drinks at the fucking Marmont, whatever works for them. We need _them_ so we have to be accommodating, right?"

Anna nods without looking. She's scratching over Marmont; she tripped over that stupid M.

"Right." He claps his hands once and rubs them together just as Anna lifts her head up. He is grinning again. "You're coming with me, did I mention that?"

"I—yes? I mean no. No, you didn't."

"Why else would I need two rooms?" He jokes. "Try to do that as quickly as you can because this is kind of last notice for us and I don't want you to have any inconveniences with the booking later on."

"Sure, cap."

He finally settles down in his chair, leaning back with a loud exhale. "This is exciting, isn't it?"

"It is," she grins shyly. It hasn't even hit her yet. "I've never been to Los Angeles."

"I think you'll love it." Hans smiles before he stands up again; his energy renewed. "Let's go get coffee."

And it is like this. He never seems to sit idle for too long.

Once in the elevator, he picks up where he left off. "You know it's not just the city I think you'll love," he says. "We'll be at a book festival half of the time and the other half we'll be in meetings. This will be your first time mingling with people you look up to, including authors like yourself."

Anna tries her absolute best to keep her eagerness in check even as she lets the subtle compliment wash over her. A silly and brief thought flashes through her mind, of just how many times she's felt excitement in this elevator already.

Regardless, she manages to appear somewhat cool when she says, "You know I'm not an author yet."

The elevator stops and opens its doors to the building's lobby.

"Yet being the key word," Hans states as he waves an exuberant hand at the security guard.

"Hear, hear," she grins, stepping through the glass door he's held open for her.

As they walk on a street busy with morning commuters; as they enter the coffee shop around the corner, and wait in line while still chatting about Los Angeles, Anna can't help but think of the easiness with which she's been able to build a professional yet amicable relationship with Hans. It makes her feel even more grateful to have a job from which she can learn while enjoying herself. 

She takes nearly all day arranging everything for the trip. She tackles the booking first while Hans goes over his manuscript pile, pausing from time to time to listen to what he reads out loud to her. They discuss the author's work for a few minutes. She gives him her opinion before Hans shows her the perspective of an agent looking for talent. In the end, it's his decision, and she gets back to work as he gets back to reading. She calls USC and is put on hold for nearly twenty minutes, not knowing that she will spend the whole afternoon with its maddening tune stuck in her head. She then schedules a lunch with one agent, and a couple of dinners with one publisher and one author. Though she has a hard time with the latter's secretary because she speaks so... slowly... and can Anna... repeat... the date again?

The day ends gracefully faster than she expects and soon she finds herself waving once more at the security guard on her way out.

She rushes all the way home, checking her phone every other minute; feeling guilty about a time difference that she can't control. The time nears 11 p.m. in London while Anna wishes New York's public transportation wasn't so lousy when she needs it the most. The train makes it to 14th Street with a screeching halt and Anna has to sanely, and politely, push her way out of it before the doors close.

"Excuse me—Sorry—Sorry—Thanks—Excuse me—Sorry ( _Move please!_ )"

Precious seconds are wasted dodging a few people on the street, but she still makes it to her apartment in record time even though she stops by her mailbox out of habit (and desperation) to see if Elsa's postcard has finally made it to its destination. It must really be a good day because she finds just what she's been waiting for: a white envelope marked by London's stamp, lightly roughened up after traveling thousands of miles across the Atlantic ocean.

She runs up the stairs two at a time, stopping for a moment upon landing on the third floor so that she doesn't faint, fall backwards and break something. That would be counter productive. She still needs to call Elsa.

The door to her apartment swings open before she discards her shoes and gets rid of her blazer somewhere between her tiny kitchen and the bed. Her laptop is already there, all she has to do is dial Elsa's contact number.

Moments later and a blurry image of her girlfriend will take over her screen. A sight Anna has been looking forward to seeing all day.

"Hi, sweetheart," she says in a tiny voice, still catching her breath.

Elsa's gentle smile takes over her face. She is sitting on her bed wearing Columbia's gray hoodie this time. Her hair is weaved into a braid but she's missed a few tresses that now fall loosely over her forehead. "Hey, you," she responds. "You sound like you ran all the way from work."

"Something like that," Anna mumbles. "Did I wake you up? You look like you were sleeping already. I can call another time if you want—"

The girl's quiet laugh filters through the speakers of her computer. Anna wishes she could hear it in person.

"I was waiting for you to call, silly. This is just my normal face," Elsa jokes.

She bites her lip while she gives herself the time to look at her girlfriend. Elsa's face is bare of makeup and there are faint lines already growing beneath her icy blue eyes. She is tired, Anna can see it as plainly as the sunlight still coming in from the window, but somehow her fatigue is outweighed by delight. A delight of seeing Anna, too. An expression that stands as a mirror of her own: two fools in love.

"I finally got your postcard," she tells her.

Elsa leans closer to the camera's eye. "No way. That took forever."

"I _know_. Something probably went wrong cause I checked and they usually don't take so long." She is rearranging herself on the bed, lying with her belly flat against the covers, getting comfier. "If you think about it, though, our ancestors had to wait for weeks to be updated about their loved ones."

"Isn't it ironic that the information you read in that postcard will be obsolete because we have technology now?"

"Okay, it is a little anti-climatic," she admits, "but you can't say it's not fun to find something like this in the mail every other week."

"You'll never hear me disagree." Elsa pauses to cover a long yawn before she asks: "How was work?"

Amidst the excitement of seeing Elsa and receiving her postcard Anna had pushed it all to the back of her mind. Now, however, it returns with full force.

"It was good!" She exclaims. "I went to that little coffee shop for lunch that I told you I wanted to try and they did not disappoint. They have these really good paninis that you gotta try when you come back. And Hans and I discussed a few manuscripts again. You should read some of the things people write, it's crazy and so creative and so genius sometimes but also really cringy... And actually, guess where I'll be going next month?" She beams.

Elsa is lost in her for a moment, her expression softened by love. "Where?"

"You're supposed to guess."

A chuckle. "Of course." She considers her answer for a couple of seconds, then: "Chicago."

"Nope."

"Seattle."

"No," she drawls before blurting out, "Los Angeles!"

"What was that about me having to guess?" Elsa smirks.

"You were taking too long."

The blonde laughs, straightening herself against the wall, her blue eyes not as sleepy as they were only a few moments ago. "That's great, baby. What for?"

"A book festival," she nearly squeals. Elation is taking over her again but this time she doesn't feel the need to suppress it. After all, Elsa has been on the receiving end of her reactions for almost a year now. "There'll be lots of people there— _all_ kinds of people—and I'll get to meet many of them and introduce myself and I've always wanted to go to Los Angeles too because it just looks so _flashy_."

"Flashy."

She nods frantically, feeling her high bun starting to come loose with every movement ( _it was already loose by the time you flew up the stairs like a maniac_ ). "That's the word, yes. You know with those paparazzis and that sunshine. It's all just one humongous flash coming at you."

Elsa lets out a real laugh this time, and boy how she misses it. "You never cease to amaze me..."

"It comes included in the package, sweetheart."

Her girlfriend facepalms as she shakes her head but Anna can tell there's a smile behind that hand.

"How long will you be there for?" She asks afterwards.

"From the seventeenth til the twentieth. So in about three weeks."

On the screen, Anna watches as Elsa takes a deep breath and smiles endearingly at her. "Look at you turning all bi-coastal on me already."

She rolls her eyes through a smile of her own. "It's just for a couple of days, Elsa." At last, she pulls at the hair tie and lets her copper hair over shoulder. She weaves her fingers through it, untangling the knots as they go.

"Still..."

Her gaze connects with Elsa's before the two regard each other, exchanging with their eyes what words oftentimes fail to disclose; a silent yearning.

"I miss you," Elsa whispers.

"I miss you, too," she whispers back. "Like really, really miss you."

The blonde's shoulders lift up then fall with a deep exhale. "I keep having a hard time sleeping," she confesses.

"Why?"

"I got used to your tiny snores," she mutters before biting her lip.

"That is not nice."

Anna knows this might be accurate but she refuses to consider it.

"You didn't let me finish," Elsa grins. "I also can't sleep because I keep wishing you were lying here with me."

Does this girl always know what to say and when to say it? It seems likely.

"Me too..." She admits. "My pillow's already run out of your smell. I feel like a junkie."

There is a lazy chuckle followed by a yawn. Elsa's hand goes up to rub at the eyes that have been turning increasingly drowsy. Anna looks at the time on her computer. It is 6:22 in New York. 11:22 in London.

"Just tell me how your day went and I'll let you go... I know you're tired."

Elsa sighs deeply. "I wish our conversations could last longer."

"That's what weekends are for," Anna beams, trying to appear more cheerful than she feels.

She accepts this with a hum. Her eyes are so heavy by now that Anna feels a pang of guilt deep inside her conscience. "My day went well," the blonde says. "It's been harder than I thought it would be; this whole research thing. But the professor's assigned us specific roles for the project, which I think is better if you ask me."

"How so?"

Why she has to lower her voice is beyond Anna. "We would have clashed as a group if we all focused on the same thing at the same time."

She bites her lip to keep herself from giggling at Elsa's solemn statement. "That's just your personal issues talking."

"Perhaps," she shrugs. "But don't tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me." She watches Elsa yawn again and, against her wishes, she mutters the next words: "You should go to sleep, baby."

Regretfully, Elsa nods.

They bid farewell after promising to talk more over the weekend with Anna looking forward to hearing Elsa rant about coronary microvascular dysfunctions and about all the places she's gotten to discover in the past few days. A narrative all on its own, that one. Because Elsa has never described things the way Anna does, not impulsively or with enthusiasm laced in every word, but at a pace that is distinctively hers; detailed and smartly, until Anna came to realize that whereas most people describe what a place looks like, Elsa tends to describe how the place makes her feel.

She closes her laptop and switches her attention to the envelope resting next to it. One of its corners is crumpled while a few dark smudges cover its surface from where it's been passed from hand to hand. On the top left corner there is a stamp with the Big Ben surrounded by a circle and the words GREAT BRITAIN. In the middle, Anna's full name and address written by Elsa's lovely calligraphy. She grins just by looking at it. Her excitement is palpable.

Inside there is a card with a pale orange background. There's the Big Ben's tower again on the right side, fully detailed and straight out of a sepia image. London is typed in a large, squared font that covers half of the postcard while the other half is covered by England's flag.

She studies the image then flips it over, eager to read what her girlfriend has written.

_Can a place be gloomy and pretty at the same time?_

_You would love it here... I went out for a walk today trying to find somewhere I can run_

_& found a gorgeous place nearby—like a mini Central Park!_

_Chocolate biscuits will be my doom. They're not too sweet (taste like heaven) & I must say I have a new lover: tea. _

_Tell coffee I'm sorry._

_Wish you were here to ~~run~~ walk with me..._

_I love, love, love you with all my heart._

_-E._

Anna reads it enough times that she could probably recite half of it from memory by the time she places the postcard back inside the envelope, careful that she doesn't rip it by accident.

She falls back on the bed and stares at the ceiling afterwards.

An enamored sigh escapes through her lips before she closes her eyes and allows herself to daydream.

* * *

A day before her trip Anna is rushing to get everything inside a suitcase while Kristoff takes over her bed, giving out moral support and commenting on things that help with nothing at all. He's lying with his belly flat against the bed, poking around the cosmetics and products scattered all over the floor; half of which he recognizes while the other half... he really doesn't.

Anna holds up two pairs of heels for him to look at. On her right hand she has a pair of cream colored round pumps and on the other a simple pair of black stilettos. "Should I bring one of these or both?"

Kristoff's eyes go from one to the other, then back. "One?"

She considers the answer for about half a second. "I'll bring both."

He rolls his eyes, picks up two mascaras and opens one. He observes it, and Anna catches him right before he's about to use it on his eyelashes. She snorts. "I would not recommend that. If you're gonna put mascara on you should use a mirror or you'll poke your eye out."

"I'm good, thanks." He closes it and puts the objects back on the floor. "Do you really need all this stuff?"

"You mean the _essentials_?" She's getting exasperated with herself. Helping Elsa pack wasn't as hard. All she needs to do is put these two sweaters inside—and put her cosmetics back in the bag—and put that same bag in the suitcase—why is she like this?

"What's this?" Kristoff asks.

"That's a tampon."

He drops it, pretending he never picked it up in the first place.

Her phone starts vibrating from somewhere in the room. She grunts. She could have sworn she had it right in her pocket. It is nowhere near her or the suitcase, or even Kristoff on the bed. She gets up rather quickly—something Elsa would not condone—but remains still when the vibration stops.

It resumes once more.

"Fuck," Anna mutters. The sound is so faint she can't tell where it's coming from. There is nothing under the bed (just a sock). She rolls Kristoff off it, but nothing. The bathroom is next and that is where she finds it, sitting on top of the counter, vibrating its way to the edge. And it's the boss. What the— " _Fuck_ "—why is she like this?

"Hi, Hans!"

"Hey." It sounds like there's a smile there. Anna returns to her chaotic excuse of a suitcase. "Are you busy? I need you to send me again the info on Lucas' publisher—you know the one with the weird foreign name—I lost it again and he's on my ass about it."

"Sure. Do you want me to do it?" She sees Kristoff give her a bewildered look, slightly shaking his head no.

"No need but thanks," Hans says. "He's a friend. He prefers if I do it myself."

He hangs up soon after that.

Kristoff is still looking at her weird.

"What?"

"Why doesn't he just text? It's late already."

She looks out the window for some reason. Sure, it is some time in the evening, but does it matter?

"I don't know. He's my boss, it's not like I can just tell him to text instead of call."

Her best friend narrows his eyes. "He's not... like, flirting with you, is he?"

Anna stares at him, skeptical that this is even a serious question, but his brown eyes are unwavering and he's already crossing his arms in defiance. He _is_ serious.

"Of course he's not," she states. "What even makes you think that?"

He shrugs. "Curiosity. I see a lot of movies where the boss hits on the assistant... That and he seriously could have texted you instead."

"I am appalled that you'd assume something like that. I would never cheat on Elsa, Kristoff. With Hans or with anyone. You know me better than that."

They hold each other's eyes for a moment but Anna doesn't have the need, nor the desire, to look away. She means every word she said. She would first quit than put her relationship with Elsa on the line.

Kristoff gives in first. " _Okay_ , _okay_. You don't have to bite my head off, I'm just looking out for my fellow blondie."

She glares at him before leaning down to pick up the first thing she can throw at him.

The tampon hits him square in the face.

* * *

They arrive at Los Angeles some time in the afternoon.

Anna is high on caffeine but Hans doesn't know this because she has learned to stay functional after years of high consumption. There is a chauffeur, courtesy of the hotel, already waiting for them by the time they make it to the exit. She walks right next to Hans as the man leads them outside but hesitates as soon as they approach the black Mercedes they're about to get into. She may have been inside one of these cars before—a memory that is blurry at best and questionable at worst—but one this shiny black? One that smells, and is, impecable? One with a chau- _ffeur_? Nope, never.

She is nonchalant about it though, even as she thanks the man for putting her suitcase in the car's trunk and even as she settles inside, pretending not to look around because it's just a freaking car (Anna, chill). 

However, it is still a curious feeling, to experience a degree of luxury some people live with every day of their lives. And as the Mercedes crawls out of the airport's driveway and merges into the biggest freeway Anna has ever seen in her entire life, she can't help but think of what it would be like to get used to this kind of feeling.

She closes her eyes for a few seconds, her pulse going at it against the tender skin of her neck thanks to that godforsaken American Airline coffee, before she leans against the smooth upholstery of the backseat.

What was that about success?

And was it possible that it could also be as simple as this?

She reopens her eyes to palm trees rushing by; so tall they're reaching up to the skies and so mighty despite the frailty of their trunks. The storms they must endure, she thinks.

Farther away: the forest green hills, covered by residences belonging only to those who can afford them. White; immaculate; unreachable. They scream money, and Anna can hear them from miles away. She also notices the lack of skyscrapers but is unable to grasp the enormity of the city from where she is (from what she is); nothing but a speck. Its extensiveness is overwhelming—exhilarating.

Minutes later, her eyes catch a familiar sight.

"I thought it'd be bigger," she says.

Hans puts his phone down, leans closer to where she sits and follows her eyes. He laughs at what they're both seeing. "That's the first thing everyone says about it."

She tilts her head with a smile. The Hollywood sign stands across the hills. Another beacon of dreams.

Anna watches part of Los Angeles unfold right before her eyes like a movie she had never seen before, and by the time they make it to Beverly Hills she's all but ready to sprint out of the car and explore on her own. They drive down Rodeo Drive next—the 5th Avenue of this city, but richer—and Anna sees not mere store entrances, but designed gates that lead to some of the biggest fashion emporiums in the world.

They stay at the Beverly Wilshire after all. The Mercedes parks smoothly into its driveway right behind a red Lamborghini before a doorman clad in a black suit welcomes them with a polite smile. It reminds Anna of the time she had a minor breakdown right before meeting her parents the day before graduation... Not too long ago. Why did it feel like a lifetime?

Somehow, she doesn't feel out of place this time, even though the hotel is more luxurious than the one her parents had stayed in. The clear tiles on the floor are so polished that they reflect the light of the tiered chandelier hanging from above while the flower arrangement set up on a round table in the middle of the lobby looks as expensive as half of Anna's monthly rent. Perhaps it is that this time it isn't anxiety what she feels, but pure and unfiltered awe.

She goes to check the two of them in with a lady whose name tag reads Lorena. The woman is taller than her, perhaps even taller than Elsa, and it makes her feel like a kid trying to check in for her parents. But the parents are nowhere near, only her boss, somewhere behind her, on a phone call.

Soon, they head for the elevator trailing after a bellhop. On the sixth floor and right outside Anna's room, Hans tells her to "Meet me at the bar in an hour."

"Uh, okay?" She says, opening the door and looking at his retrieving form.

"Celebration drinks," he throws behind his shoulder.

She walks in with a frown, unaware of what they're supposed to be celebrating, but the confusion is short-lived because the hotel room—the cheapest one at that—is taking up all of her attention. It is simple yet elegant, but when she jumps on the bed and sinks right into it, she thinks of how nice it would be to get used to this.

Anna takes a picture of the room. She sends it to Elsa and hesitates for a moment before sending it to her parents as well.

With an hour to spare she wishes she could call her girlfriend but Anna knows better than to interrupt her sleep in the middle of the week. The blonde had only gone to bed after she had told her she'd landed in Los Angeles safely, and that had already been past midnight. So she decides to shower and change her clothes, and even go as far as putting some of her hygiene products on the bathroom's counter before having to go down to the bar.

Hans is already there when she arrives, changed out of his airport clothes and into a light blue button-up shirt and white chinos. _White chinos,_ she thinks, _who even wears white chinos anymore?_

He greets her with a smile and puts his phone down while Anna sits on the black leather stool next to his at the bar.

"So what are we celebrating?" She asks him.

"Nothing," he grins, beckoning the bartender with a raised up finger. He orders an Old Fashioned before Anna asks if they have Lambrusco. She wants the memory of Elsa to be right here with her somehow, and the wine always reminds Anna of last year's Thanksgiving and of the time the blonde had not too casually asked if they were a couple. The thought brings a smile to her face that spreads wider when he says that they do.

They cheer for the sake of cheering and Anna sips her wine slowly; with precaution, knowing that she will only allow herself one glass because Hans is, after all, still her boss. The thought of them sitting at a bar is already foreign enough. They begin talking about the festival. Hans tells her what to expect from it, as well as what to expect from the people they'll be meeting. She knows she won't get to see all of Los Angeles so Hans takes care of describing some of its most iconic landmarks.

After a while, her phone beeps next to her hand and she goes to check it out of habit. She grins at Elsa's sleepy text: _were getting a bed like that when i get back. call me tomorrow if u can. i love you_

She doesn't reply yet but puts the phone back down before finding Hans staring at her with curiosity.

"Sorry, that was Elsa."

He nods, sips his Old Fashioned. "You mention her name a lot. Is she your roommate?"

Has she never provided that piece of information before? It seems like she hasn't. She's never felt the need to, not even when she talks about Elsa. She's always thought it was implied but now that the question gives her the opportunity to tell the truth she finds herself hesitating.

She gulps and reaches for the glass of wine that she doesn't lift. Must it still be this hard to say out loud that the person you're in love with is another woman?

"No..." She responds tentatively. "She's my girlfriend."

There is a flash of realization behind his eyes but after that, nothing. No backlash. No mockery.

"Well, that explains a lot."

"What?"

"You talking so much about her," he smiles easily.

Anna blushes. Her shoulders relax where she hadn't known they had tensed. She follows the movement of her fingers as they encircle themselves around the stem of her glass. The wine swirls gently in the bowl, casting a reflection of the warm, lavish lights coming from above the half-full bottles of liquor in front of them.

"So are you in love with her?" Hans asks her.

She lifts up her gaze and finds nothing but curiosity. Go figure, she had not imagined on her way here that she would be sitting with her boss at a bar discussing her love life. She takes another sip of wine.

"I am."

He nods solemnly before finishing off his cocktail. The bartender comes at the smallest of gestures. Hans asks for a second drink.

"Love is good," he muses. "What do people usually say about it? That love can move mountains..."

"Isn't that a song?"

"Right," he chuckles. "Love can also be a dangerous thing for a writer. You know that, don't you?"

Anna frowns. "Not really." She's not interested in knowing, is the real answer.

He gives her a reassuring smile. "You know the love stories that I get sometimes, some are really good and some are so cheesy it makes me want to toss the manuscript to the trashcan."

"You've showed me some of them," she concedes. "But you cannot tell if someone's in love just from a manuscript."

He lets out a laugh. It is sharp and honest; all too open. "You know exactly where I'm going with this, then."

She nods sharply. There is enough trust between them now that she can allow herself to be defiant in her answers and her opinions. "Love— _any_ kind of love—can be a source of inspiration as well, not just for a love story but for any story in general."

"What's your argument?" He asks playfully, grinning against the rim of his lowball glass before taking a swig.

"I don't have one," she says. "I just _know._ "

"Glad you didn't become a lawyer," he teases. It is enough for her to break into a smile. "Look, Anna, just think about it. Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, _Anna_ _Karenina_ for Christ's sake. Those are not cheesy love stories. Leaf through them one more time and tell me it isn't love told through anguish and heartbreak that makes you keep reading."

Anna swallows a gulp of Lambrusco along with her petty arguments. "Okay, fine. You're right. But what's your point here? That people should live a life of heartbreak in order to deliver good work?"

He leans closer, getting into the conversation. "My point is, don't let yourself be swallowed whole by the comfort that is love."

She narrows her eyes.

"I'm not telling you to break up with Elsa," he points out. "You should know what love is, after all. And if she makes you happy, that's even better."

She continues staring at him. It pulls another laugh out of him.

"You're feisty," he mumbles after he's done with his second Old Fashioned. He doesn't order another one. And thank God for that. The man chugs it like it's water.

"So I've been told," she says, finishing her own drink.

Hans asks for the bill and it's brought over to him in a matter of seconds. As he signs it and pulls out a twenty that he drops on the bar, he adds: "All I'm gonna tell you is not to live and breathe for love. You have a life you gotta live."

When he's done he gives her a lopsided smile; his green eyes glinting with an ambition that is starting to become contagious.

"This is the kind of world you belong to, Anna," he says, and bids her goodnight.


	22. It's a heart problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if quarantine sucks for your creativity! I admit this would have taken me less time to get done if it weren't because I suffered from a writer's block that lasted a week... I hated this chapter at the beginning, then I really liked it so I hope you do too (not the hate part). Thank you to all of you who keep leaving comments, who keep reading, and who keep sending me goodies on Tumblr. I love you all... Please stay safe.
> 
> Also, kudos to my girlfriend for absolutely EVERYTHING. She's helped me shape this story more than you guys think.
> 
> Enjoy!

The heart has its own electrical system that allows it to keep beating even after it's separated from the human body. It is all based in a miniature-sized nod hidden away in one of its crevices, generating an electrical stimulus that occurs between sixty and a hundred times every minute, every hour and every day for the rest of someone's life.

Each heartbeat generates enough force to circulate blood to almost 100,000 miles of vessels. Elsa knows this, just as she knows that a heart attack occurs after a blockage in the artery keeps it from being able to obtain oxygen; a suddenness that feels like it's been cheated on; a tragedy that can befall a seemingly healthy heart. She knows, too, all about ventricular fibrillation and about how the heart can become so chaotic it is no longer able to sustain blood flow anymore. She knows about heart failures—has studied them too much, trying to understand something that is no longer useful in her mother's life—, and she can draw and identify the nooks of the heart, reciting every artery, every atrium and every ventricle from memory.

She has also known for a while that there is a certain kind of comfort in the consistency of a person's heart.

We rest our heads on the chest of a loved one in order to hear it. Its beating brings us solace; it means life to us. Yet, in its dichotomous nature it represents something more than just endurance. The heart is vulnerable, and it can also be unreliable. It failed her mother when she needed it the most, and it fails people every day despite the hardships it is designed to endure.

And what about the heart in all its poetical glory? How did people come to invent heartbreaks?

How did people come to describe dread or apprehension as two sensations solely related to the heart?

Elsa finds her answer the morning after waking up to a message from Anna stating that she had a drink with Hans the night before. It had not sit well with her. She'd read it while she was still in bed, just before uneasiness dropped to the pit of her stomach and rushed back up to constrict the walls around her heart. Would she have been able to explain this with medical accuracy? Perhaps, in the right state of mind, she would have attributed it to the chemicals in her brain, to the change of her pulse, to _anything_ that could make more sense than the sensation she started off with.

But the poetical and the medical side of the heart never fully meshed and Elsa, swallowed by her frustration at not being able to understand either one, shut herself off to any thoughts relating the matter.

She gets out of the bed at 6:07 a.m. that day, the same way she has been doing so for the past three, almost four weeks. She puts on her black leggings and a gray hoodie, pulls her hair up in a ponytail and plugs in her headphones before tiptoeing out of the room she shares with a girl that barely speaks to her—she had soon realized that her roommate was more of an introvert than she was because she would faster walk out of the room to spend time at the library than spend time inside with another human being; even if said person had more in common with her than she had bothered to know—.

She pulls out her phone again, sends Anna a good morning text that is heartfelt despite the turmoil going on inside her mind and presses send, ignoring Anna's last statement. She is unable to comment on it at the moment.

It is chilly at this time of the day but the weather does it for Elsa just as much as if she'd splashed cold water on her face.

She walks past the Nando's that is right below the dorms and stretches her arms and legs just as she makes her way up Great Portland Street and turns left on Devonshire. The park she'd mentioned in her first postcard is The Regent's. A scenic place that she was quick to compare to Central Park until she came a few more times and convinced herself that albeit smaller, Regent's had more charm. The gardens that decorated the flat greenery of the park, as well as the edges of its boating lake were intricate and captivating. Their colors stood vibrantly against an otherwise gloomy sky, and each morning Elsa came to run by them it felt like an escape from the hectic reality that was starting to become her career.

She goes through the easy routine, covering the path that delineates the park only once because that is the amount of time she has before having to go back and get ready for another day of research. She runs steadily, with her feet hitting the concrete and her heart doing exactly what she expects it to do this time. The bitter irony is that her mind is the one playing the tricks now, and with every few meters she covers, it keeps coming back to that message and the image of Anna having casual drinks with her boss.

A rush of anxiety bloats her veins.

She can't tell if it is apprehension she keeps feeling at the easiness with which Anna has bonded with Hans, or if what she keeps feeling is jealousy, but the more she thinks about it, the harder it is for her to contain the bitterness growing towards herself. Because Anna deserves to have friends. She deserves to have a good time, and she deserves to enjoy every bit of her trip. Besides, the last thing both of them need to add to the distance is jealousy... But could she really trust Hans? He _is_ nice, Anna has said so many times before. And she knows for a fact that if he were to ever flirt with Anna, she wouldn't keep it to herself. But what if last night was the first time? He probably knows Elsa is away—does he even know who Elsa is?

A feeling of impotence continues to gnaw at her insides faster than she can run away from it, no matter how hard she keeps trying to focus on nothing else but her breathing. She is powerless; unable to control this surge of emotions toppling over a pile of unwelcome insecurities. She shouldn't be feeling this way; this strange unease aimed not at Anna but... at what? At _whom_? In an instant, an outburst of energy fueled by frustration shoots through her veins.

She pushes herself to a limit her body is not ready for, and somewhere before the end of her first mile she pulls her right hamstring. The pain is sharp, a stiffness that causes her to come to a halt in a matter of seconds. 

Elsa hops to the closest light pole, leaning on it as she catches her breath. So much for a run, she thinks with distaste.

There's a woman sitting on the bench to her left who observes her with sympathetic curiosity. "You alright, dearie?"

"Yes," she breathes, "Sorry."

_Why are you apologizing?_

"You should go back to your flat," the woman suggests, "Put some ice on there." Her accent is thick, a bit drawly. What was it again? _Cockney_ —how did they come to put the v's where the th's go?

"I will, thank you," Elsa mumbles before flashing her with a polite smile.

She limps the rest of the way back to her starting point and back towards the dorms, fuming at her own recklessness, desperately wishing that Anna was awake right now so that they could talk; so that she could ease her troubling mind.

Back inside the room, her roommate is barely snoozing her alarm. The girl grumbles a greeting from her bed. Half of her face is covered by messy, dark blonde hair that she oftentimes wears in a braid (another similarity) and Elsa greets her back with the smallest Hi she can muster.

She gets ready distractedly, too caught up in her own mind to focus on the motions of her morning routine. She showers, then dresses in the room while her roommate is out. Her actions are erratic and her appetite is close to null, and she keeps checking her phone every other minute despite knowing that it is only past midnight in Los Angeles. Does she hope to find another message from Anna at this time? Not really—of course she wouldn't, it's _Anna._ Her girlfriend is drooling by now. But the impulse is there and the longer she goes alone with her thoughts the harder it is to contain it.

The Institute of Cardiovascular Science is only four blocks away from the dorms, but Elsa doesn't stride through the streets like a New Yorker this morning. She does so slowly, her nostrils flaring after every other step. _There was no ice at my flat, m'am_ , she'd tell the Bench Lady, _and I have seven hours of vascular physiology to get through before I can go out to get some._

It is another day at the institute.

She takes the elevator to the second floor and limps lightly to the office space they've been occupying for the past couple of weeks.

Upon entering, she donnes a short white coat on top of her black sweater and greets Sasha, her partner in their ongoing part of the research. He is tall and slender, with dark brown hair that curls like a crown atop his hairline. His cheekbones are so defined he can be considered striking while the eyes behind his round spectacles are crystal blue, bordering on gray; same eyes that light up every time he talks about the heart or about his heritage. "I'm half Siberian, half Mongolian," he'd told her the first time they met. "My dad's a surgeon and my mom's a pediatric cardiologist. What about yours?"

Elsa had stared at him, wide-eyed and slightly disturbed at the heaps of energy he seemed to have in every word he uttered. He'd get along with Anna better than me, she'd thought before mumbling: "Dad's an engineer and my mom's a psychologist."

"That's _cool._ "

She'd nodded slowly.

In the end, Sasha had turned out to be a better partner than Elsa had expected. He was chatty before getting to work but was capable of focusing and staying dead silent for hours.

He had tagged along for lunch the first few days, much to her quiet dismay, but had soon perceived that Elsa was... an introvert, so he took it upon himself—without offense—to find a few people from their group with whom he could be his chatty self. And it wasn't that Elsa was not friendly with the others. In the following weeks since their arrival she had come to know them all by name and she'd found it easy to carry a short conversation with most of them. The thing was, Elsa liked her privacy, and between having a roommate, working with people and at times having to join group trips around the city, she found that her lunch breaks were the easiest way to decompress in the middle of her daily routine.

"What happened to your leg?" Sasha asks her when he notices her limping.

"I pulled a muscle this morning," she mumbles.

It still hurts, she needs to sit down. A brief thought passes through her mind as to whether she should mention this to Anna. Her girlfriend will ask why, naturally, and what will she say? _Because I'm frustrated at myself? Because you have a right to have fun even if that includes having a drink with your boss, whom I don't know? Because I have no clue what's bothering me so I literally ran away from my problems instead?_

"Elsa?"

"Yes?"

Sasha tilts his head at her. He offers her a vinyl padded stool. God bless him.

"I asked if you put ice on it," he tells her.

"I—I didn't," she mutters, hissing when she accidentally puts pressure on the back of her leg. There is a sharp pain followed by throbbing. "I didn't have time to check if we had ice."

He nods once before turning around.

"Where are you going?"

As he opens the door he says, "This is a medical institution, there _has_ to be ice somewhere," and leaves.

A groan escapes her just as the door closes behind him.

Her eyes fall to an empty spot on the wall, her mind falling inward once more. How silly, she thinks with disdain, how _idiotic_ to pull a muscle out of frustration. But how fitting, too, that the frustration had been aimed at herself all along.

_Masochist much?_

She sighs, shakes her head. Could she even discuss this with Anna? Could she bring herself to say: _I am feeling kind of insecure and maybe even jealous but I don't know why. All I know is that I shouldn't be_. A knot builds inside her throat. This aversion... it sticks out like a sharp stake pointing at herself; accusingly and wearily.

The door opens again and in comes Sasha trailing after Professor Park. It is her who is carrying an ice pack.

"I heard you pulled a muscle."

_Let's just make a public announcement to the group._

"Yes," she says sheepishly. It strikes her in that moment just how exactly they're planning to put that ice pack on the back of her thigh. Is she supposed to lie down across the desk?

The question seems to cross both of their minds, too.

"You're going to have to work sitting down for a couple of hours today," the professor comments. She makes Elsa prop her thigh on another vinyl stool with the ice pack placed securely between the two. 

Sasha is sitting down next to her now, looking at her with a small and sympathetic smile before he pats her knee twice. She feels like a child.

"Okay," Park says, giving her some space and stepping away to lean on the immaculate desk they've been lent along with the tiny research room. "How's your weekly report coming along?"

Sasha turns to look at her. He sees her as the leader when it comes to these reports; something that she tries not to take too seriously during the elaboration process. She prefers to work with him as an equal.

"We're turning in the results of the last ten evaluations we've had," she tells the professor. "The genetic and the environmental influences are there. We just need to finish up presenting the CV structures and functions of each case."

"You're focusing on atherosclerosis, correct?"

From her peripheral vision she can see Sasha nod. "Yes."

"Okay," she says, pushing herself away from the desk. "Make sure you don't turn in your report late this time."

With that she bids them goodbye with a smile. The two students look at each other. The first time they had to turn in their weekly report had been a disaster. They got lost trying to find Professor Park's office.

They set to work soon after she leaves. Thankfully, the rest of it requires more technical knowledge than practical so their movements are minimal. However, Elsa feels restrained. "I hate this," she mumbles for an hour before giving up on the ice pack. "Are you always this dramatic?" Sasha asks. She glares at him.

She spends the rest of the day balancing her mind between work and Anna, edging on self-imposed insanity. A talk is all they need, she thinks. Even if she doesn't bring herself to say out loud what is bothering her... yet—she really needs to keep working on that—just being able to hear Anna's voice and knowing that everything has remained perfectly normal is what she needs to appease her mind amidst this cursing distance.

A few minutes past 3 p.m. they're all but ready to hang their coats.

"You seemed really distracted today," Sasha points out. "It's very unlike you."

She feels her cheeks grow warm. "It was just a weird morning."

He chuckles. "Right. Well, if your leg is up for it, some of us are going out for drinks tonight to beat the weekend crowd... you should come. It'll distract you from your weird morning," he smiles.

She regards him for a couple of seconds before nodding. "I'll think about it," she says, unsure if she means it or not.

He gives her the bar's name as well as his cellphone, and walks with her until they reach the exit and her phone starts ringing in her pocket. He waves goodbye just as the name on the screen brings a smile to her face, like a reflex reserved only for Anna.

She answers. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hey you," Anna breathes. It makes Elsa close her eyes for longer than a second, relishing the sound of her girlfriend's voice. "How are you? Are you done for the day?"

"I'm okay," she responds sincerely. She _could_ be better. "I just finished, actually."

There is a pause. "Just okay?"

Elsa stops right outside the automatic doors of the institute and steps to the right, biting her lip. She hears what is probably Hans's voice in the background before Anna says Okay and returns to their conversation. "Sorry, we're about to head to the festival... Is everything okay?"

She inhales slowly through her nose in an attempt to keep herself in check and nods despite knowing that Anna can't see her. "It is," Elsa reassures her. "It was just a long day, and I pulled a muscle when I was running this morning."

" _You_ pulled a muscle? That sounds like something I would do," Anna teases, drawing a reluctant smile out of the blonde. "Why did you pull it? Did you take care of it? You better not think of running again until you feel a hundred percent better, Elsa."

She begins walking after this, as slow as she can without giving way to limping. She presses the phone closer to her ear as though that would make the sound of Anna's voice clearer; closer to her. There is a struggle brewing inside of her, between frustration and longing. Yet, right now and under these circumstances, her longing wins, stripping her of everything that is not occupied with the wish that Anna were here with her.

"I pulled it because I wasn't very smart," she mumbles with sincerity. "But Sasha found me some ice."

Anna tsks and then: "Chit-chat Sasha?"

"Don't be mean," she scolds through a smile. It really does rhyme, it's awful. She reaches the main street on Maple, looks left just like the painted sign below her feet indicate and looks right just for the sake of it; the habit of a jaywalker.

The redhead giggles. "I'm not. It's a compliment. I'm sure we'd get along very well."

"That's exactly what I thought," she grins.

Her girlfriend hums—there's a smile there, she can tell. Another voice leaks in from the background, different from the one previously heard. "I'm serious, though," Anna tells her. "If I find out you've been running before you're fully recovered I'll fly straight to London and kick your ass."

There is something to consider. "Maybe I should start running tomorrow then," she whispers.

Anna goes silent for a bit, understanding the meaning behind her statement.

"God, I miss you," she says lowly. "I should have put the video on but I'm in the middle of the lobby, there's no privacy here."

"We can do that later, maybe?" She suggests. "I miss you, too..."

Part of her wishes to know more about last night, even if Anna seems to be acting normal, which should be a sign in and of itself that nothing out of the ordinary happened. But mostly, Elsa can't kid herself, she wants to see that freckled face smiling back at her.

"I... actually, that's why I called you right now." Anna sounds despondent all of the sudden. Elsa's shoulders deflate a little. "I don't know if I'll be able to call you later today. What with the festival going on for most of the day, and I think Hans wants me to go to this dinner with him and another agent or writer or something—I already forgot but don't tell him cause I'm the assistant and I'm supposed to know."

Elsa passes the Turkish restaurant that smells too good for its own good—the restaurant she keeps hoping to take Anna to if she happened to actually visit—and stops again at the corner, right next to a red post box with a crown and the initials E II R engraved on its front. Beneath that: _Royal Mail._ It escapes her why she loves that detail so much.

There's a pang of disappointment more so than anything else, but then again, Anna _is_ on a work trip. She should have known better before opening her mouth.

"You're right," she says. "I'm sorry... It completely escaped my mind."

"It's okay," Anna reassures her. "I'm sorry, too." Her voice drops. _Don't be, please,_ Elsa thinks with sadness.

Distance... How many thousands of miles are separating them right now?

"We can catch up properly when you get back from LA," she then suggests, and finds that she means it. There is something here, somewhere, that she knows she must accept. Life gets in the way sometimes; there is nothing more inevitable than that.

"That sounds good, my love."

She smiles tenderly at that old, red post box. Why hasn't she started walking again?

"Send me pictures, okay? And keep me updated... Oh, and send me a postcard, maybe?"

Anna chuckles. There is a change in the sounds of the background, as if she's outside on the street now rather than the lobby. "You _know_ I'm sneaking away at some point just to find you a postcard."

Elsa laughs softly. Yes, she knows. Her heart—she may not fully understand it, but she knows when it feels lighter. Even if just a little.

They hang up a few moments later before Elsa covers the last few blocks back to the dorms. She takes in the city's surroundings. A red double-decker passes by, a handful of black cabs move sluggishly forward. There is something about the air in London that screams an invitation, and Elsa thinks that maybe a bar doesn't sound like such a bad idea after all.

* * *

There is a huge moment of hesitation in which she thinks maybe the bar is a really, _really_ bad idea.

She is ready to go. She's put on her black jeans and the blue cashmere sweater that Kristoff and Eugene gave her for her birthday last year. A casual choice; easy at that. She's applied her make up, done her hair. But she remains sitting on her bed, looking at the map's route and texting with her cousin.

Why on earth would these people choose a bar that is 25 minutes away by train?

Why? Just why?

_Just go, loser,_ says not her conscience but her cousin, _wheres your sense of adventure_

Hiding under the bed.

It is the distance, she tells herself. It is far for her standards. A 25 minute ride takes her to Coney Island and that's already near the tail end of Brooklyn. No that is not true. She is exaggerating. Elsa huffs, pats the coverlet over her bed for no reason, and stares at Rapunzel's message. Going to a bar is not exactly an adventure, people do it all the time. So it is the group then. She knows them, but not really. What if they have nothing in common? Maybe she could just stick to Sasha's side—like a leech—no, not a leech. _God_. Has this always been so hard? She's used to going places with people she's close with. That's the comfort; that is the guarantee that she will not turn out to be the only quiet one sulking in the background.

_Right, you're just pushing it at this point._

She stands up from her bed with lukewarm decisiveness and texts Rapunzel the announcement that she is going, quickly enough that she doesn't give herself the time to take it back.

_I'm so proud of you, you introverted little bean_

Elsa rolls her eyes as she locks the door behind her. She shoots a quick text to her girlfriend, letting her know about her plans for the evening. Anna had told her to go since the beginning, providing her with a short list of pros and absolutely no cons, conscious that Elsa would have second thoughts. She knows her too well.

As soon as she exits the building she runs into a group of loud preteens loitering outside of Nando's. They smell like cigarettes and chicken. The girls are on their phones, gushing and squealing. The boys are pushing each other around, laughing. She dodges the group careful enough that she doesn't get sucked in on the pushing before she walks (slowly again, dammit) to the underground station.

Who is she kidding, this _is_ an adventure.

Elsa takes the tube at Great Portland Station with a mixture of familiarity at having done this many times before and the unfamiliarity of doing so in a different city. The station is cleaner, less crowded. As she hears the train approaching she glances at the rails out of habit and finds no rats scurrying back and forth, searching for food and shelter. The train stops before the recording of a man's voice orders people to _MIND THE GAP_ three times while the doors close behind her.

She transfers at King's Cross but takes her sweet time doing it because this is the first time she's at the station and the imposing nature of the arched glass roof is too enthralling to merely glance at. There is an easiness in London with which the old blends in with the new; where history gives way to the future. She dwells in this space: the architecture, the people. It is a rare solemnity, the way Londoners walk compared to New Yorkers, with a seriousness that doesn't border on the edge of ill-temper.

She takes a few pictures and sends them to her cousin and to Anna, who hasn't replied to her last text. She is busy, Elsa reminds herself.

It is close to 7 p.m. by the time she finally makes it to the bar. Its facade is covered in a dark aqua blue with a double door entrance painted scarlet red. Who chose the colors only God knows but they match perfectly somehow.

She takes a deep breath before entering the place by herself.

There are people everywhere she looks but it is not crammed to the point of it being overwhelming. Her eyes fall first on the arcade machines to the left, and she smiles a little at the way a couple of girls are loudly battling against one other. Anna would love this place. There are square tables scattered throughout the space and all kinds of sofas lining the walls painted the same color as the outside. Elsa notices a casual mood that is oftentimes missing in the bars she's visited around New York. In the city, people gravitate towards impressing—the question isn't a matter of _who_ but of _how_ —and while that may also be true in some parts of London, this tavern is utterly laid back. It is a nice change. It helps Elsa relax a little.

She spots Sasha soon enough, standing by the bar, towering over a few people she recognizes from their group. Her research partner is the first one to greet her, perhaps even more excited to see her here than she is. Still, she accepts the embrace with a smile before she greets everyone else with a shy wave of her hand.

"What are you drinking?" Sasha asks her. He's holding a cocktail in his hand but Elsa is far from being a connoisseur to tell what it is.

"I'll have wine," she says, fumbling inside her bag to look for her credit card.

Sasha stops her before she can pull it out. "No, no. First one's on me," he grins. "You _finally_ came out with us."

With Gorillaz blasting from the speakers and voices coming from everywhere else she has to lean closer to talk to him.

"If you'd told me you would buy me the first drink I would have come sooner," she jokes. It's an attempt at least. Elsa knows she doesn't excel at it the way her cousin or Anna do—though her girlfriend thinks she can be hilarious but that's mostly bias speaking—so the fact that Sasha still laughs out loud is good enough to lift some of her spirits up.

She is... what did people call it?

_Breaking the ice._

"How's your leg?" He asks as soon as he hands her a glass of Chardonnay.

"It's much better," she comments. Taking a sip after they cheer in silence.

They follow the rest of the group upstairs and Elsa feels as though she's following a herd that she doesn't quite fit in with just yet. They all seem to know each other closely by now, sharing inside jokes, catching up on their personal lives.

There is a minigolf on the second floor that throws Elsa off completely. It is covered by a handful of neon lights and psychedelic looking signs that make no sense to her whatsoever. The walls are fully covered by faux foliage, like a make-believe rain forest.

Elsa stands by watching a mini-golf match between two of her colleagues (she couldn't call them friends, unfortunately). She laughs at their bickering, cheers when the rest of the group does. She wasn't sure what she expected when she decided to come but a mini-golf was not included amongst her visions. The wine goes slowly, for every time she takes a sip she lets it linger in her mouth before letting it travel smoothly down her throat. The last time she had wine was with Anna, at Reggio, a week before leaving. When she thinks that for Anna the same could not be said she chugs the last of the Chardonnay, willing for something to keep her mind away from going down that path again.

"Come on," Sasha tells her as she pats her shoulder.

"Where are we going?"

"Downstairs. I need a refill and you need to get that—" he air quotes "—weird morning off your chest."

She narrows her eyes but follows him anyway. Whether it is out of a need to follow the only person with whom she gets along in this place, or because she probably, _maybe_ does need to get this off her chest she doesn't know. She is tired of overthinking everything today.

Sasha offers to get them more drinks but Elsa insists that he at least use her card this time. "It's my turn," she says.

There is enough space in a chesterfield sofa made out of oxblood red leather. She sits on it, nearly sinks. The tavern is more crowded than when she first arrived. There is a guy and a girl playing at the arcade machines now, and Elsa's attention turns to the way they keep playfully shoving each other. The sight brings out a smile on her face. It reminds her of her own relationship with Anna.

A glass suddenly breaks somewhere behind the bar. The couple stops, turns around and joins in on the cheering that occurs all over. She frowns and looks on with curiosity.

"They do that here."

She turns her head towards the source of the voice and finds Tracy standing there, holding a pint of beer. Her long, dark hair falls over her shoulders with a carelessness that is not unappealing. She has a black leather jacket swung over the crook of her elbow and a tight white tank top tucked inside ripped black jeans.

"I'm surprised to see you here," the brunette smirks, stepping around the sofa to face Elsa but not sitting just yet. "Why are you by yourself?"

"I'm not," Elsa tells her.

As if on cue, Sasha comes to join them. His cocktail is held in one hand and a glass of Chardonnay in the other. He tells the blonde to pull the credit card out of the back pocket of his suit pants with so much ease that Elsa has to pause a moment before doing it. He then greets Tracy with a familial hug.

"What are you doing here?" Elsa asks the brunette as she tries to keep the edge off her voice.

"It was her idea," Sasha answers for her. "It'd be kinda weird if she didn't come." He places the drinks on the coffee table in front of her before stating that he needs to use the _loo._

Tracy allows herself to take a seat on the sofa across from them.

"Are you even allowed to hang out with students at a bar?" Elsa asks her as soon as he's gone.

The brunette throws her head back with a throaty laugh.

"We're all consenting adults here, that's the beauty of it," she says.

"But still... a _bar_?"

Tracy leans forward, placing her elbows on her knees. Her hazel eyes look straight into Elsa's when she asks: "Is there ever a time where you just... relax?"

Elsa barely conceals her scoff. "I _am_ relaxed."

"Right," she smirks and leans back. She pauses to take a sip of beer. "What's got you so upset then?"

"I'm not."

Tracy regards her for a moment and takes another large gulp of her beer. She's nowhere near done with it, but Elsa still goes through the thought process of whether she'll return to that seat when she has to get up for another one. "You know, Elsa, you're much easier to read than you think," she tells her.

The blonde cranes her neck in an attempt to see if Sasha is coming yet. He isn't.

"Let's diagnose you, doctor," Tracy adds. "I think this is a heart problem."

Elsa's spine gives in a little. She can feel herself slouching. "What makes you think I'm upset?" She asks defeatedly. Two people in a row couldn't be a coincidence.

"You had a huge frown on your face right before some dum-dum broke a glass."

Right when she was thinking about Anna.

"It's far from it," she states, straightening back up. "But even if it were don't think I'd be discussing it with you." She doesn't say this with any venom in her voice. It is perhaps the easiest thing she has said to Tracy at all. It is the truth.

The brunette smiles, nodding solemnly, accepting it. "Fair enough."

Sasha returns a few seconds later. He sits right next to Elsa, slumping against the cushions then sitting back up. He reaches for his cocktail. "What did I miss?"

Elsa doesn't know what to say so Tracy responds: "We were talking about the problems of the heart," she says with a smirk before risking a glance at the blonde. She is staring at her.

"Oh. _Yes..._ " Sasha surges forward to the edge of the couch. "You know I was telling Elsa today that if people would just change their lifestyles half of their cardiovascular problems would just go away. I mean of course there's always the what ifs relating to family history, but _exercise_ you know? You don't have to become an athlete. Or at least eat healthier stuff..." He looks around at the people filling up the tavern and exclaims, "Control your blood pressure, mates _._ "

Elsa doesn't know whether to laugh or cover her face with her glass of wine. There's a group of bulky men staring at the two of them now.

Tracy begins laughing out loud. "You are so far off it shouldn't be this funny," she says. There is a change of beat; a steering in the conversation that Tracy provokes with her next words. "Now tell me Sasha, what do you do when a girl rejects you?"

Sasha lets the sip of his cocktail sit in his mouth while he regards her with a funny look. He swallows before stating, "I'm gay," as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The brunette doesn't bat an eye. "A boy then."

"Well, I move on? Why would I force myself onto someone who's already rejected me? That makes no sense to me, and it baffles me that so many people insist on pushing it."

Elsa is having a hard time catching up. Sasha is gay. Anna was right. She owes her girlfriend ten dollars. Tracy is asking what to do in case of rejection and she has absolutely no clue if that is supposed to be about her. She has a feeling it is, but hates the fact that this makes her feel self-centered.

"Why are you asking? Did someone reject you?" He narrows his eyes, leaning forward. "Are you being pushy, Tracy?"

The conversation takes a break. Tracy is still leaning back with her legs crossed, taking more space than she needs to. Her index finger is tapping absentmindedly at the half empty glass of beer she is holding. Her eyes fall on Elsa for a brief moment but the blonde cannot decipher any of her thoughts, let alone her emotions.

She looks back at Sasha. "I'm just used to getting what I want," she says.

Elsa doesn't stop herself. "That's highly egocentric." From the corner of her eye she catches Sasha nod, lift his glass up and drink.

The brunette tilts her head. Slowly, she leans closer. "Well, aren't _you_?" She defies. "I mean, you study at Columbia—far from a community college if you ask me. You live in New York City... I won't assume you live in a condo but you must at least live in Manhattan, and all of us here know that is far from cheap... I'm sorry, Elsa, but I just don't peg you as somebody who has a hard time getting what they want." 

Elsa forces herself to breathe. The chain around her heart has been yanked again, an event that has happened far too often today. Her nail scratches the wine glass that is sweaty from perspiration as she searches for any sort of leverage. 

How can she possibly re-center herself in such a crowded place?

"You don't know me," she finally states. It feels like déjà vu.

Tracy flips her luscious hair over her shoulder, and it moves in a long fluid line. "Isn't it time that we fixed that?" She glances at her, then at Sasha. "Let's all get to know each other then. Sasha, what do you do?"

Elsa catches him looking at her right before he answers the question. "You know this," he laughs a little. "I mean that's the whole point of being in London."

"Okay, wrong question. When did you first know you were gay?"

He shrugs. "I always knew—"

"That's a bit too personal, don't you think?"

"I don't mind—"

"Only as personal as he wants to get." She cedes the spotlight to him with a raise of her glass. He takes it gladly.

He's always known, he tells them. Deep down he always felt something was different. Middle school was a nightmare because he wasn't masculine enough to fit in with the boys nor feminine enough to fit in with the girls. So he would often sit by the playground and chat his teacher's ear off instead. High school wasn't any better but at least he managed to find a group of boys that were into science as well. "I was the only gay one there," he laughs.

Elsa observes him as he speaks, comfortable in his own skin; outgoing, talkative. He retells his past—the good and the bad—without a trace of regret or nostalgia, accepting exactly who he is. She looks over at Tracy, enthralled by his story, sitting in a way that screams complete ownership of the space she occupies. Then, she looks inwards at herself: her upright spine, those shoulders that won't cease tensing up whenever she's not paying attention. Her hands on her lap nursing a glass of wine she's barely even sipped from.

Is there a magic trick she never learned as a child?

Was this tension just a part of being an introvert, or was this just... her?

"What about you?" Sasha asks, his knee going up to rest on the sofa in order to face her more fully.

Go and take a sip of that wine, she thinks. And she does.

Elsa retells her own story without giving away the details she is unwilling to share. And, of course, it isn't because of Sasha. She keeps finding herself growing fonder of him. Because in his extrovertedness, in the way he opens himself up and is unafraid to reach out, she thinks of Anna— _always_ of Anna.

It is because of the girl sitting across from her. A girl whom Elsa no longer knows what she wants, but whom she cannot bring herself to fully trust. Yet, and regardless of it, she speaks, offering the people that are listening to her an olive branch. Perhaps it is that Elsa is getting tired of her own animosity; tired of the negativity that Tracy tends to bring along with her presence.

Or perhaps she is tired of the musings of her heart, so busy with missing Anna every day that there is no longer any room for anything else.

* * *

The postcard arrives two days later, and Elsa reads it at around the same time that Anna is flying over the Grand Canyon on her return to New York.

It is a sepia photo with a graphically designed Manhattan Bridge framing the Empire State Building in the far distance. There is a specific street from which this photo is always taken but Elsa can never recall the name. The postcard says New York City right at the bottom typed in vintage font. Elsa smiles as she flips it over to read its contents:

_I MISS YOU—but that's only okay because you're in London doing great things for yourself_

_and for your future patients._

_Coffee feels betrayed by your cheating with Tea but no worries, I'm drinking for the two of us._

_Work is very busy (you know that because we talk very day)_

_but what you don't know is that I think of you from start to finish._

_I keep wishing that I could teletransport myself all the way to London and fall right into your arms..._

_I'm desperate to go to the London Eye with you and eat biscuits until we can't breathe._

_I adore you_ — _always, forever and ever!!_

_-A_

Elsa reads it in the middle of the lobby after being unable to wait until she is back in her room. The smile that grows as her gaze traces over Anna's handwriting is inevitable; the bite of her lip, a sign of mere restrain. She can't help the flourish going on inside of her. Even after a year of knowing Anna. After almost a year of being her girlfriend, Anna's words never fail to get a physical reaction out of her. And it is the heart again the first telltale while it beats as though desperately trying to find a release; as though it wants to soar.

She places the postcard back inside the blue envelope it came in, and then inside her tote bag before she moves towards the entrance. The intention to go out for a walk remains—something she probably shouldn't do but can't help—and she soon finds herself heading south towards the Thames, eventually reaching the British Museum.

She refrains from going in, mostly because there's a visit scheduled with the group in the next few weeks, but also because she's not _that_ reckless with her leg; the museum looks like a beast of a walk. She joins in on the sitting that many visitors are currently partaking in right between its front lawn and (yet another) Greek, majestic facade.

There is only a bit of sun to relish as it seeps brightly through an ashy sky but Elsa takes what she can get with gusto. It is rare that Elsa does this, either in London or New York, but the day calls for it somehow. She's felt so overwhelmed by people and emotions the past couple of days that today she's hard set on pursuing relative calm. She wills her mind to escape from the traps she's set for herself. The insecurities, the frustrations, the self-imposed guilt.

The distractions are there after all, helping her out a little.

A group of young tourists argue in Italian as they pass back and forth a map of the city of London. They're pointing at it, smacking it with the back of their hands, most likely arguing that what each of them is saying is right. The map is ripped by accident at some point, split almost in two. The group goes quiet. They stare at each other.

" _Cazzo,_ " one of them exclaims before succumbing to a fit of laughter.

And life goes on.

She spends the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets of London. Subtly looking for a favorite café still, observing the Londoners and the tourists blend in like water and oil—as utterly contrasting as they are in New York. She observes the buildings, the antique on one side of the road and the modern on the other. She closes her eyes at times, trying to decipher what the thickest of British accents are saying. Sometimes she's able to understand; sometimes she's not.

Her roommate is reading when she arrives from her walk, and remains in the same statue-like position for the rest of the time Elsa is there. She wonders if she's done or said something to deserve the cold shoulder but then again, she has never seen the girl hang out with anyone else.

She goes to the large common room in the first floor to wait for Anna's call. Being a Saturday evening, there is only four more people scattered around the space. A perfect set up for her if there ever was one.

She considers going to the cafeteria to buy a hot chocolate but just as she's about to make her decision a picture of Anna's freckled, grinning face appears on her laptop's screen.

Elsa accepts the call without a second thought.

The face that shows up is a living replica of the picture she once took of Anna in Central Park. The redhead is looking straight into the camera with an expression of delight adorning her features. 

" _Hi_ ," Anna drawls in a tiny voice constricted by bursting excitement.

Elsa grins. "Hi, lovely."

"Long time no see, pretty lady."

"I should say the same thing about you," she smirks. "I've been waiting for your call like a damsel in distress."

Anna gives her a seductive gaze and lowers her voice to say: "Fear not, your knight in shiny armor is back from the City of Angels."

Elsa bites her lip. "And how did that go exactly?" She stops herself from leaning closer to the screen when Anna doesn't answer immediately like she expected she would. Her girlfriend glances down, straightens herself on the desk chair, and lifts her shoulders up in a half-done shrug.

"It was good," she finally says. "I loved the city... and it was flashy just like I expected." She pauses, gathers her thoughts. "I loved the festival too. I met a lot of people there, and I mean a _lot_. Hans kind of dragged me along to most meetings he had which was also fun. We even dined at the Chateau Marmont last night with a really famous editor, it was awesome."

An unexpected knot forms in her throat that she must swallow before speaking again. "Did you—were you able to make contacts then?"

"I'd like to think I did," Anna smiles. She glances down again as she props her leg up on the edge of the chair and rests her chin on her knee.

"That's good, love." Elsa is distracted by a student passing closely by before her eyes fall back on the girl she loves, sitting three thousand miles away from her. "How did... drinks go? With Hans." It is one of the most glaring questions in her mind, like a searing mark on her thoughts.

"Drink," Anna corrects her with a tiny smile that fades too soon. "It was okay, I guess... nothing..." She gets lost for a moment before shaking her head, "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Elsa nods distractedly, almost unconsciously. She is trying to decipher that answer.

"Are you okay?" She hears Anna ask.

Their eyes meet again, and Elsa finds a sight that tugs at her heart. There is concern in those teal blue pools of hers.

"I just miss you," she whispers. It is the only thing she can bring herself to say right now. Because in her inability to understand her own emotions she finds no other option but to remain silent.

A moment passes before Anna leans closer. Her gaze is deep and unwavering. "You have no idea how much I need you right now," she says. Something flashes across her eyes then; a fierce and determined look. "You are my biggest inspiration, Elsa."

"Don't say that when you're not here and I can't kiss you..."

The redhead smiles lovingly. "I can't help it. It's the truth."

Elsa slumps back in the chair at those words. Everything about this distance is taking a toll on her, no matter how much she tries to keep it in. A myriad of emotions bouncing off against each other. It is exhausting.

"Tell me something," Anna whispers. She is reaching out to her. Pulling her out of her own mind.

"I... Sasha is gay," is all she can come up with. They haven't had a proper talk since Thursday and this is the first news that must be shared it seems.

Anna claps once, high on success. "I _knew_ it. You owe me fifteen dollars."

"It was ten."

"Fifteen."

"...Twelve. Take it or leave it."

"Twelve and a kiss."

" _Fine._ "

The redhead giggles. She asks her about her leg and Elsa says it's fine but she went out for a walk today so it is not so fine again. Anna glares at her.

"Tell me something else before I get too mad at you for not listening to me," Anna says, and Elsa has to hesitate because there is only something else she had planned on telling her girlfriend.

"Well... Tracy was at the bar as well, and we kind of... talked?"

"Kind of," Anna drawls.

"Sasha was there, too, so it wasn't a one on one kind of thing." She doesn't think that would have happened anyway.

"And how did it go then?"

Okay is the first word that comes to mind. The three of them spoke about sexuality, or Sasha and Tracy did, with Elsa sporadically commenting and rarely opening up. Tracy left before she did, and she didn't stay that much longer afterwards. It wasn't exactly bad, nor was it incredible. It was just...

"Okay," she responds. "They both did most of the talking, honestly. You know I'm not..." She shakes her head. "I'm not very talkative sometimes."

Anna tilts her head. "Were you uncomfortable?"

"I just wasn't feeling it that night."

Her girlfriend nods, accepting the answer. "And Tracy?"

She shakes her head slowly. "I've given up on trying to figure out what she wants. She's not flirting with me anymore but she's... strange."

There is that look of determination in Anna's eyes. Elsa would be lying if she said she didn't find it attractive.

"Well," the redhead muses, "I might have to go to London and find out what she's up to."

Her chest swells at the thought. All of the sudden every image she's ever conjured of them together in London are brought to the forefront of her mind. All of the sudden everything seems possible.

"Please..." she says softly, "Please come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CV - Cardiovascular  
> Atherosclerosis - a disease of the arteries where plaques of fatty material grow on their inner walls


	23. It's a writer's problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your constant appreciation and for bearing with me. Stay safe!

Out of every person Anna has ever met in her twenty-two years of living on this planet, Rapunzel has got to be the quirkiest, most peculiar person on the list—except maybe for that one art teacher she had in ninth grade who liked to show them movies about the end of the world and then ask them to create art out of the chaos they had just witnessed. Frizzy hair, wide smile bordering on wicked. Students made fun of her a lot because she was very intense and had a tiny gap in the middle of her two front teeth, but Anna always thought that the gap really wasn't so bad and that she was rather... inspiring. Quirky yes, but oddly inspiring too. And what was that teacher's name anyway? Something like Mrs. Carey—

"What do you think of this one?"

Anna stares at Rapunzel, then at the painting. There is the shape of the Yin Yang symbol right in the middle of it. She tilts her head to the right: there is a phoenix around it somehow, as if guarding it with its wings (Was it Mrs. Carroll?). On the side of the Yin Rapunzel has painted a sunset kissing the landscape of some fields (Mrs. Carrell, maybe), while on the Yang she's painted violet flowers in the process of blossoming. She tilts her head to the left (She gives up) and says "I love it." She does. It is beautiful and abstract, just like most of the paintings that Rapunzel has shown her this far.

It's as though Salvador Dalí had taken an ecstasy trip straight to the end of the fucking rainbow, but the beauty of it all was that Rapunzel painted them while being a hundred percent sober—or so she said—. They were full of hidden meanings; a picture where different, and sometimes opposite elements, turned into a whole. Where the black, sharp lines that she often used encapsulated the vibrancy of her colors even more, pulling you in, forcing you to take a second look.

It made them stand out amidst the softened, realistic works that were currently being set up next to hers.

The art show, of course. Rapunzel had made it.

"But what do you _think_ of it?" The brunette insists, emphasizing each word with a gentle push of her artwork towards Anna's direction.

The two quirkiest people she's ever met are painters. That can't be a coincidence.

"You're a writer, use your words."

Anna squirms under the intensity of her green-eyed gaze. It's been like that since this morning. Either Rapunzel has had too much coffee or the pressure of having everything set up by the end of this afternoon is starting to get to her. She already made Kristoff cry, and Eugene fled for his life an hour ago saying that he was going to go buy them pizza, but either he went to buy it in Brooklyn or he was lying.

So Anna is the last one standing. For now.

"Well..." She stares harder at the painting. _Make holes through it, I dare you. You'll never see the light of day again._ "Okay, I think I see a certain duality here but also... the two pictures in the symbol. One of them is a sunset, which could represent the end of something... maybe?" Rapunzel nods frantically. "...And so the flowers that are blossoming, they represent the _beginning_ of something else." A grin splits the girl's face in two; her eyes begin to widen with feral excitement. Anna keeps going: "So the phoenix is... guarding this symbol. With its wings... Cause it represents the transformation from death to birth—another duality."

" _Yes_!" Rapunzel places the painting on the floor with utmost care before she jumps and throws her arms around Anna's shoulders. "I knew you would get it!"

She laughs nervously. " _Yay_."

Rapunzel pulls back with a dead stare. The grin is gone. "Are you scared of me?" 

"...No."

"Good," she grins again, squeezing her shoulders. "Cause Elsa's not here and you're the closest thing to her that I have right now which means that I need you to be patient with me because I know I can get a little crazy but this place is huge and there are so many talented people I just feel like I'm starting to become an anxious ball of... anxiety."

Anna pats gently at the hands resting on her shoulders. "Maybe we should all sing Kumbaya," she jokes.

The brunette laughs. It is a sharp, single-toned laugh—hysterical. "You're funny, I love you," she says before turning back around to pick up her painting and get back to work.

A sigh of relief.

She gets back to helping her as well, feeling as though she's just dodged a bullet but fully understanding the anxiousness to which she is referring.

Things like these, the public exposure of the works you create, whether they're paintings, or written stories, or movies... it is a nerve wracking thing to go through. No matter how often it is said that the opinions of others don't matter in the end, the high expectation you put on yourself at having created something worthy enough to be spoken about; it is a heavy, ball-of-anxiety kind of sensation. It is pulling at the drapes that hide your mind and your soul, and making yourself vulnerable to the opinions of other people.

It is being brave enough to say: This is who I am, and what I have to offer the world.

This art show, it is a new thing for Rapunzel and in a way it is, too, for Anna. Because she's never been this close to another artist. She's never seen from the outside the effects that exposure can have on you and deep down, Anna is glad that she can be here for her. Even if she gets a little scary at times.

"Maybe we should call Elsa," the brunette suddenly suggests. Random, just like half of what comes out of her mouth. "What time is it over there?"

Anna goes to the folding table they've lent Rapunzel for the event. It is full of silver glitter for some reason. She checks her phone, its back covered in glitter as well, and finds a text from Kristoff: _Did rapunzel calm down? eugene is asking if its safe to go back_.

She snorts before saying, "It's eight."

"Call her."

She stares indignantly—safely—at Rapunzel's bossy back. The brunette is hanging one of her last paintings up on the laminated board: a mermaid with bright red and yellow hair ( _it's a fire_ ) and a crescent moon against a dark gray, swirling background. The ocean is, unlike reality, a blue the color of the sky while its waves are delineated with black. Somehow Anna would think that none of it together could work as a whole but Rapunzel manages to do it.

The girl turns around, "What?" And crosses her arms, "You're not the only one who misses her you know?"

Anna smirks. Fair enough. She replies to Kristoff's text ( _she's fine but you better arrive with pizza)_ and goes to her Favorite Contacts list _._ However, she hesitates for a moment before calling because she doesn't know what Elsa is up to or if whatever she's doing will be badly interrupted by their call.

"If she's busy she'll tell you," Rapunzel tells her, reading her thoughts.

She nods but right as she's about to tap the green call button on her cellphone Rapunzel stops her with a sober hand on her arm.

The girl is dead serious when she says: "Don't tell her about the kitchen thing."

Anna tries not to laugh. Rapunzel did almost burn it last weekend and she thinks, just as the video call begins to dial, that this girl should have her own TV show and call it How to a destroy a kitchen with two simple ingredients. Every week will showcase two different ingredients with the same outcome.

In the seconds that follow Rapunzel goes to stand right beside her. She throws her arm around her shoulder with ease, and Anna can't help but smile at the gesture. This is a kind of friendship she never thought she would have with another girl.

Elsa's face shows up on the screen a moment later and Anna has to bite her lip at the sight. Her blonde hair cascades down her shoulders while the few locks that fall across her forehead move a little with the cool October breeze of London.

Her deep, blue eyes squint as she smiles lovingly at the two of them.

"I had a feeling one of you was going to call at some point today," she says.

She is somewhere outside but Anna is so busy still staring at every inch of her face that Rapunzel beats her to the question: "Where are you?"

"I'm in a park," Elsa responds, moving away from the camera's eye to show them where she is. It looks like the park she's often showed Anna in pictures.

Rapunzel coos, "Look at you becoming one with nature and shit."

Anna snorts but elbows the brunette for the sake of keeping face.

An arched eyebrow is the first response. "Is that why you called? To bully me into becoming a city girl again?"

"Of course not," Anna laughs.

"—it's just to bully you in general."

Something happens along the way, like the first link in a chain of reactions. Elsa laughs out loud at Rapunzel's comment until her eyes connect with Anna's and the corners of her mouth drop into a soft smile. The blonde bites her lower lip, and Anna watches it slowly be released before mirroring the action. It ignites something in her, as if in the middle of this art show, amongst the virtual company of others, nothing else mattered except for that brief moment of expressed longing towards each other.

It is promptly broken, however, when Eugene and Kristoff show up; their sheepish, grinning faces guarded by two boxes of pizza. A peace offer.

" _Where the hell have you two been_?" Rapunzel screeches as she drops out of the conversation as easy as she dropped in.

Anna hears laughter coming from the speakers of her phone.

"Is she acting all crazy?" Elsa asks her.

"You can't imagine," she mutters, "I wish you were here to tame the wild beast that is your cousin."

"You made sure she wasn't around to say that, didn't you?"

She diverts her eyes. "Maybe."

A laugh; it is hearty and honest, and it is all that Anna wishes to hear right now.

"I miss you guys a lot," the blonde then says, "I wish I was there with you even if it's just to shoot a tranquilizer dart at my cousin."

Anna sighs. "I know, sweetheart but just... a little over two months, right?"

Elsa nods dejectedly. "Just a little over two months," she whispers.

They fall into a temporal silence, lost in their mutual wish to urge time to go faster, yet knowing that when it comes to love, time is never truly on one's side.

* * *

Walking through the streets of Queens makes her feel like she's not in New York at all.

It is a strange but relaxing sensation: the quiet conventionality of the suburbs. The way birds chirp and flutter their tiny wings as they fly from one branch of a tree to the other; the odd car passing by through one way streets; the stranger that sends a cordial nod your way. She nearly skips as she goes, excited at the prospect of seeing her elder friends and having a nice, ever so enlightening chat with Theo. Excited, more easily put, about tuning everything out for a couple of hours.

She carries a cup of tea in each hand and a puzzle inside her bag still wrapped in its plastic packaging: a 500-piece picture of London's Piccadilly. Because Anna figures that if she can't be there right now she might as well stare at it until her eyes hurt. Of course, she will not be finishing it today, but with the help of Theo's avid searching skills she hopes that they can at least get through half of it before leaving it in the care of Theo's hands.

She observes the person behind the front desk today. A man who's probably near her dad's age, he has black hair speckled with white and kind eyes that augment in size behind his square glasses. He smiles at her and she returns the gesture before glancing at the cover of the book he's reading: _The Paying Guests_ by Sarah Waters. She grins mischievously to herself as she makes her way to the drawing room.

In it she greets Louie—loud; it's always gotta be loud—, and then Sergei with the only Russian word she knows which means 'Thank you,' but she tries anyway and Sergei laughs and calls her _malysh_ which she hopes is a good thing. She waves shyly at a lady she's never seen before and decides to ask Theo about her before Anna can introduce herself. She also makes a mental note to tell Elsa about it because she's sure this is something she'd be interested in knowing.

Theo is wearing the shades of fall today complemented by an orange scarf that ties around her head, showing off the gold hoop earrings that Anna has seen her wear very little times before. It makes her wonder if perhaps today is a special occasion, but when Theo stands up to hug her the question flies out of her mind in order to be substituted by another more pressing matter.

"What's with the cane?" She asks.

Theo dismisses it with a wave of her hand. "You trip once and they think you're too fragile to hold yourself up without a cane."

Anna stares at her unconvinced. " _Theo_..."

The elder signals for her to take a seat with a stubborn hand but Anna only crosses her arms, refusing to comply.

Theo rearranges herself in her chair, happy to have a stare down if that is what the redhead wishes—knowing, perhaps, that when stubbornness meets impatience, Anna will cave in. And she does; embarrassingly fast.

"Okay fine," Anna mumbles, taking a seat. "But you need to be more careful, Theo. Tripping can be a scary thing. I do that a lot so I know what I'm talking about."

"It wasn't scary, sugar. I'm eighty-four, this was bound to happen. You reach a point in your life where your body ain't the same anymore, so you accept that by lettin' them give you a cane."

She bites her lip, unsure of what to say. She wants to go through the safety measures with Theo, search online about what you should and shouldn't do whenever you take a fall—she should have done that for herself a while ago—or even just discuss this further with her. Does something hurt? Has she nearly tripped since then? Has she felt any differences in her bodily functions? But, she thinks, she's not the doctor one (the doctor one is miles away in London, thank you) and even if she were she decides not to ask any of this because Theo is regarding her with those brown, unwavering eyes of hers, conveying with a single look that she is okay and don't you _dare_ ask again.

So she nods in spite of herself and in the end asks the one thing that is far from rational.

"Can I decorate your cane?"

Theo guffaws. It makes her smile in relief. "Of course you can, honey. Bring your stuff next time and we'll decorate it together."

She agrees to this while making a mental note to keep an eye from now on. They settle themselves before opening the box Anna has brought with her. Theo spreads the pieces over the table before moving them around in order to get a better look, and Anna remembers how she once compared them to words. She'd told her how some of them could go together if you just forced them, like two pieces that fit but didn't connect, and how some others could fit perfectly with only the barest amount of pressure. All you had to do was look for them and the rest would follow. "But how do I find them?" She'd asked, and Theo had looked at her funny and said, "A thesaurus, you silly goose."

Anna takes the lid off her paper cup and blows before taking a slurpy sip. She's trying earl grey today, which is her favorite so far considering that she's been adding cream and sugar as well—an absolutely foreign concept until about two months ago that Elsa had started raving about it. The cheating was real. She sympathized with coffee, truly.

"What's with the tea?" Theo asks teasingly as she drinks from her own non-creamy, non-sugary one. Chamomile for her. Anna had remembered this random fact very well.

"I've been trying tea now cause Elsa won't stop talking about it," she says, sheepish.

Theo laughs a little and then, "And how are things between you two?"

The pieces are scattered on the table and Anna stares at them as if she could find her answer there. She has no idea where to start.

"They're okay," she says, "They're good, really, but... I miss her, Theo. I knew this was going to happen but this is just crazy. I feel like part of me isn't even here and I feel selfish just thinking like that."

"Why selfish, honey?"

She fiddles with a red piece, vaguely thinking that this must either make a telephone booth or a bus. She sets it to the side; she will start with those.

"Because I shouldn't be wishing that she came back already... right? She's doing this incredible thing for herself and I feel so happy for her but at the same time I just—I missher so much."

When no response comes Anna lifts her head up to find Theo watching her. It is until then that she speaks. "I would be a bit more worried if you didn't feel like wanting her back, sugar." She goes back to working on the puzzle before continuing, "Love is not this flat line where you stick to one emotion from start to finish. You'll be angry, and you'll be frustrated, and you'll _wish_ she were right here with you even if you know deep down that London is where she needs to be right now."

"But doesn't that just defeat the whole purpose?"

"What purpose?"

Anna shrugs. She has no idea.

"What is it with you kids tryin' to make sense of every little thing these days?"

She pouts. She's beginning to make some sense of this telephone booth. There's that at least.

"Love is messy, sugar, but you wishing that she were here ain't you being selfish. It's just your sweet, little heart screamin' for the love that only she can give you."

Anna slouches in her chair and props her face on her hands, lost in the emotions that are starting to overcome her. She tries another sip of her tea as she begins to process what Theo's just said. She's right, after all. _Goddammit,_ she's always right. The tea is warm and sweet inside her mouth before it makes its way smoothly down her throat.

A resigned sigh and it is back to business with the telephone booth. Or bus. Whatever.

"Can I ask you something else?"

Theo doesn't look up from the pieces she's handling as though she were shuffling cards against the table. "Of course."

"Do you think that love gets in the way of writing? Or inspiration?"

The elder stops halfway through picking a piece. She stares at Anna through her dark lashes. "What—who told you such a thing?"

"My boss..."

Theo discards the piece without checking where it falls. She exhales with heavy displeasure, crosses her arms and leans closer. "Who'sthis guy again? I'd like to meet him and tell him one or two harsh truths about what he's been teachin' you."

Anna holds onto a single red piece as if she could defend herself with it. "So, I take it you don't think the same way..."

"Hell _no_ , I don't." Theo lifts a finger up and points it at Anna, waving it with every other word. " _Nothing_ gets in the way of inspiration except yourself. What you experience and the way you allow this to affect you is your own damn choice, you tell him that."

The redhead gives a short and obedient nod even if she can't help but visualize Theo lecturing Hans; perhaps even threatening him with her soon-to-be bedazzled cane. It is refreshing and more than a tad amusing.

"He also told me not to live and breathe for love," she adds, expecting a reaction.

"Sweet _._ Jesus _. Lord,_ " Theo exclaims, bringing a hand to her face. "Who _is_ this man?"

Patiently, and with barely contained exasperation, Theo places her hands facing down on the table. She doesn't wait for Anna to respond to her question. "Honey," she says loud and clear, "Nobody gets to choose what love is or isn't to you, understood?"

Anna nods again before accepting the hand that is suddenly being offered to her. She feels Theo squeeze before she continues, "Now I ain't saying he's a bad boss just yet but don't you _dare_ listen to those kinda things. You have a big heart, sugar, and I'll be damned if someone ever tries to come and change that."

"I won't," the redhead says, smiling and placing another hand on top of Theo's, grateful beyond words for having her in her life.

"Speakin' of which... how's your writing?"

The smile is gone, and so is Anna, back to fiddling with the red pieces of the puzzle. She almost has this part completed ( _oh well look at that there are two booths now who would have thought_ ) and she must focus at all costs, which means that she is currently unavailable for any and all questions. Oh right, the tea. It is sweet still; getting lukewarm rather fast.

" _Anna..._ "

She glances up through her lashes before going back to the puzzle. A few seconds pass and then: "Going so well I might as well stop calling myself a writer," she mumbles, "Just burn my certificate while you're at it."

Theo stares at her with a raised eyebrow. She's having none of it. "So you ain't writing at all."

She deflates a little, shakes her head. "It's been very hard lately," she admits, "And I just keep wondering how long this is gonna take to go away."

Anna can feel Theo's gaze on her even as she takes her time meticulously arranging the pieces she has in her hand. Puzzles are a great way of stalling, she'll give them that.

"How old are you, sugar?"

"Twenty-two."

"So you're still a kid."

"Hardly."

Theo hums. "You're barely gettin' started I'll tell you that. What's the rush?"

She shrugs. "I just feel like I'm not accomplishing anything... maybe my mom was right." And boy if that hasn't been a thought that's been going rampant in her mind lately. So much so that it's started to become a vicious cycle, suffocating the little traces of creativity she was starting to hold onto.

"I'll say..." Theo places a handful of pieces on her side of the table. It succeeds in making Anna lift up her gaze and pay attention to her next words. "Don't chain yourself to a timeline that doesn't belong to you, honey. There's a lot you still gotta learn, a lot of mistakes you gotta write, and a lot of things you gotta discover."

Her eyes fall to her lap again. "I guess..."

A piece of puzzle hits her in the chest before falling to the floor—

" _Oops_."

"That's not nice," Anna says as she grins.

"I ain't apologizing," Theo responds, grinning back. "Ask yourself why you started writing in the first place, sugar. You may realize that you've been startin' to write for the wrong reasons."

"I will..."

"Good. Now can we pleasefinish that phone booth so that we can move on with this damn picture."

Anna laughs. She manages to complete her part in the next few minutes all by herself; a fact that gives her a much needed, tiny boost of confidence. It's been hard to come by a sense of true happiness lately, but she takes what she can get and today at least, happiness translates into sweet tea, Theo's company and a _damn_ London puzzle.

That, for now, feels like enough.

It isn't until a few hours later that she returns home, high on the temporal success of having finished that puzzle in one sitting after discarding every Saturday chore she had scheduled. She was resolved to complete it, determined; a woman of purpose. Theo hadn't minded. In fact, she'd looked at her with pride and said, "I've taught you well."

It was glorious.

They even video called Elsa at some point, which brought a big smile to her girlfriend's lips and made Anna think that it all had been worth it in the end.

Now at home, Anna has the time to think; to consider everything Theo has said and to try in any way that she can to manifest it into more than just thoughts. It is hard—always harder—to do, but she knows she can start somewhere, and that somewhere is her journal.

Inside, on a new page, she will write a single question. A question whose answer will never change but whose meaning will only transform. A question she will look back to over and over again for many years to come.

_What inspires me?_

* * *

Did Anna ever think that a job like this would involve attending this many social events? She did not. But did it really bother her? She couldn't exactly say it did.

What was it today? Kristoff had asked earlier along with, I thought writers liked their lonely time. To which Anna had given him a death stare and stated that "It's called _networking_ , you doofus." There had been no tampons to throw this time but a sock, yes, which ended up being her farewell gesture because Kristoff had to leave right after this to attend to some matters relating to his father's business.

A timely farewell in the end because now she gets to see Elsa through the tiny screen of her laptop while Anna rummages through her closet to find an outfit for today.

"What about this one?" She asks the computer as she holds a cream-colored sundress up.

"Anna, it's fall," Elsa states, "And aren't you going to be in some rooftop? It will be too cold for you."

Anna discards it on the bed without looking and hears the blonde chuckle. They've gone through this so many times. She cannot ever put it back in the closet, she must first throw it on the bed and let it pile up. Always. It's a habit she has no valid reason to change.

"What about this blouse?"

Elsa narrows her eyes to get a better look. "Yeah, that could be it, I guess."

She narrows her own eyes suspiciously. Elsa doesn't sound convinced. She discards it with the rest.

Another blouse is pulled out of her closet, one of similar style but different color: white. "And this one?—oh shit, never mind."

"What?"

"It has sauce on it. Why did you never tell me?"

"Show me."

She does.

"I've never seen you wear that blouse before."

"How long has this been on it then," she wonders out loud, dreading to know the answer. She throws it in the laundry basket. It's probably a goner by now but it doesn't hurt to try. And by try she means the bare minimum—throw it in the washing machine and let it do its job.

She sits on the bed with slouched shoulders and a pout that's starting to turn into a sobbing face. "I don't know what to wear."

"You have a closet full of clothes, Anna."

She brings her hands to her face, shaking her head. She can't even choose an outfit anymore. What has her life become?

"You could wear the top you wore to our first date," Elsa suggests, and the tone with which she says this reveals something that Anna hadn't fully noticed before; something akin to detachment. Still, she lets her continue, "You can wear a blazer instead of the jacket so that you don't look like you're ready to crash a nightclub as soon as that's over."

She knows that in the end she will follow her advice. In all matters of taste, the top is a good choice, but Anna can't bring herself to stand up again from where she sits on the bed. She is caught up staring at Elsa while the blonde holds her gaze in return; soft, yet unwavering.

There is not a single sign that could give away her state of mind, and so with a weary sigh Anna stands up to change.

She dresses up relatively quickly, all done without exchanging more than just a few words. She glances at her from time to time, feeling uncharacteristically shy when she sees that Elsa is watching her undress.

When she's done and ready she sits back on the bed and places her computer on her lap in order to take a better look at her.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

The blonde frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You have this look on your face and you sound off. Something's wrong, what is it?"

Defensiveness clouds her features. "Nothing's wrong."

Anna looks at her with bitter sadness. "Really, Elsa? Are we going there again?"

She gives a long and heavy sigh before a hand goes up to rub her fatigued eyes. "Nothing's wrong, Anna... I just... miss you, that's all."

The redhead nibbles at her lower lip. "I miss you, too," she whispers. "But why do I feel like you're not telling me everything?"

Elsa smiles sadly at her. This godforsaken distance, it is getting to them both. She can feel it. She can see it in the way Elsa's blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears. She can sense it in the way her own heart feels like it's being plucked right out of her chest.

"Are you happy?" Elsa asks her.

_Happy..._ When has that word started to feel so heavy?

She swallows the lump in her throat. "Define happy."

Another dejected smile. Elsa understands. Of course, she always does.

"Are you content, at least? With work, with the people you're getting to meet?"

Anna thinks hard on this but nothing comes. There is no room right now in her mind nor in her heart for rationality. There is only so much vacancy, and all of it is being forcefully occupied by one and the same ache. She was fine a few moments ago. She could swear she was...

"I am," she breathes.

The blonde nods so faintly it is hard to believe that she means it. "Then nothing's wrong, baby," she says, "I promise."

The aggressive vibration of her cellphone atop her desk startles her back to reality. Anna cranes her neck from where she sits to look at the name on the screen and groans. It is Hans. She checks the time then and closes her eyes in frustration.

"I have to go," she tells the blonde; far from wanting to. "I should have been there already like twenty minutes ago."

"That's okay," Elsa whispers, "I understand."

But she doesn't, and neither does Anna. None of these unfounded emotions are starting to make sense. For they keep colliding against one another, fighting a battle neither of them has the energy to join.

* * *

The rooftop is unassuming. Casual without looking like Kristoff's shady birthday party yet classy without looking like some top executives hang out here. It is right on the building where Anna works, although this must have been a well-kept secret all along because she didn't know until a few days ago that they had a rooftop they could actually use. It is covered in greenery from one edge of the rooftop to the other and occupied already by clusters of attendees—many of whom are probably twice Anna's age and have thrice her sophistication.

She's nursing an apple cider—the third of its kind by now—while she roams about the space, trailing after Hans, never too far from him that he doesn't know where she is. She plays the part of attentive assistant very well after all, and that means accepting that Hans is the focal point, not her.

The event is a celebration of some kind. Some say it is the anniversary of the agency but she heard through the grapevine—the other assistants—that this was just an excuse to have a party in a New York rooftop. She's not one to partake in gossip during office hours but she would be lying if she didn't say that she was still trying to find out which one of those two reasons was the real one.

She figures she could ask Hans, but he is so caught up in jumping from one conversation to another that the option is starting to become implausible, to the point where she's given up even following him around. Besides, she really doesn't feel like talking to anyone at the moment—a rare and bitter fact. This is why the third cider has gone untouched, why she hasn't tried a single one of those gorgeous-looking hors d'œuvre, and why she has only eaten a total of one brownie. Her mind is far off pondering away at every word, every expression, and every sound of Elsa's voice.

But the worst and most blatant part of it all is that Anna is sad. She is incredibly and unbearably sad, and that is the hard truth, ladies and gentlemen.

It is as though each day since Elsa's departure has built up to this feeling. Each second spent missing her, each minute wasted in meaningless writing, each hour falling deeper and deeper into a state of functional despondency.

Anna wonders if perhaps that is why a part of her doesn't have to question Elsa's behavior.

Because the only thing keeping them from completely falling apart is the happiness of the other.

She reaches the brick parapet and breathes deeply before letting it out in a prolonged sigh. The view is nice, she thinks to herself, so there's that. Avenue of the Americas is bustling with energy down below, giving off the white noise that is a trademark in a city that rests little. If she cranes her neck to the right and leans slightly over the edge, she will see the trees that delineate Bryant Park.

She smiles a little, thinking back to her birthday and the visit they made to the Public Library. Maybe she should visit again. Just take her notebook and a pen and a few books, and sit in silence for as long as is necessary. Maybe then, if she stops chasing, words will come to her. _Yeah, right, when has that ever worked for you?_ She goes to take a sip of her cider and grimaces at how bad it tastes lukewarm. It is this gesture that makes Lauren laugh and Anna realize that she's not alone anymore.

She blushes when she's pulled back to her surroundings. How long has she been standing here looking like she'll find the answers of the universe if she stares hard enough at the banner across the street that says We Buy Gold And Diamonds?

"You look like you're having a blast," Lauren tells her. The teasing is a little foreign although not unwelcome, but they have only interacted so much that Anna doesn't know how to respond for a moment.

"I am," she says, chirpier than she feels. "It's just... a quiet kind of blast."

Anna turns away from the view of the streets to scan the scattered groups of partygoers.

"If you're looking for Hans he's by the chocolate fountain flirting with another company's agent."

Her eye twitches. Did Lauren just say chocolate fountain?

Her feet begin to move without consulting her brain. "I should, huh, go, you know, look for him."

Lauren looks at her funny. "He doesn't need a babysitter," she jokes.

"But I'm his assistant." _AND THERE'S A CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN, LAUREN._

"And I'm his boss," the woman states with an easy smile. "You can stay. I don't recommend you go interrupt him right now anyway... Unles _s_ you and him..."

"Oh God no," Anna rushes out. "No, never. I'm not—" _EW "_ —I would never do that."

Lauren cackles. "That is good. The last thing I need to know is what goes on in my agents' love lives."

She shudders before letting out an uneasy laugh. What is it with people thinking there's something going on with Hans? First Kristoff and now Lauren. Is that really so common in movies? She'll have to do some research. Either way, Anna remains where she is because abandoning the boss of her boss to go look for chocolate ( _but what if they have marshmallows?_ ) is probably not the best of moves. Besides, she could use a distraction right about now. As much as it pains her to even _admit_ that she needs a distraction.

She thinks of what to say and the first thing that comes to mind is: "So what's the occasion?" 

"My birthday," Lauren says before lifting her cocktail glass for a drink.

"Oh!"

"I'm kidding."

" _Oh_."

The woman tilts her head at Anna with amusement drawn on her features. "You're peculiar."

"Thanks," she mumbles. She chooses to take it as a compliment.

"It's the company's anniversary," Lauren continues, "But it is also an excuse to use the space while the weather's still nice. Nothing like a New York City rooftop after all."

Anna nods, that much she can vehemently agree on. In a matter of seconds her mind goes through the memories she's had on them before smiling to herself.

"Rooftops are nice," is all she can say.

"You know what's also nice? This view I have of you two."

Both women turn at the same time. Upon seeing who it is, Anna has to restrain herself from scrunching her nose in distaste. She has seen this man in the various occasions that he's visited the agency but they have never been introduced—not that she has ever truly minded. He is a sharp and vulgar man who takes pride in saying outrageous things in the name of candor and has a thing for openly leering at women. A lovely combination.

"Frank," Lauren deadpans and in the seconds that follow Anna will notice a change in her demeanor. He moves to greet her with a hand on her waist and a kiss on the cheek that she dodges by taking a slight step back and grabbing his hand for a firm shake.

Anna stares at them both as if looking at a tennis match, and thinks that maybe right now is the time to go check on that chocolate fountain in case it needs maintenance or something.

But it isn't.

"And who is this lovely young lady?" He asks, looking at Anna and directing the question at Lauren. He gives her what appears to be a flirtatious grin and not a muscle in Anna's face moves. _You are gross, sir._

"This is Anna, she's a writer."

She whips her head towards Lauren.

"She also happens to work with us," Lauren adds, unaffected by Anna's bewildered expression. She expected something closer to This is Anna and she is Hans's assistant (now if you could please excuse her, she's got some chocolate marshmallows to devour while she sulks in silence).

"No wonder I recognized that pretty face of yours," Frank purs.

She feels like gagging. What's nastier, lukewarm apple cider or Mr. Frank? She takes a sip and considers it for about two seconds.

_Mister Frank it is._

He drinks from his Scotch while his eyes roam over the skin of her chest left uncovered by her top. Anna pulls at the flaps of her blazer closer together and shares a look with Lauren. Subtle, yet loud; a secret language between women.

"Is she working on anything?" He asks, once more directing the question at Lauren and not at her.

Lauren gives a humorless laugh. "I'm not sure, Frank. Why don't you ask her, she's standing right next to you."

Another tennis match she's barely partaking in, but this time she is the ball. She feels like such an amateur standing between them—like such a kid. And in a sense she is. Lauren must be nearing her forties and Frank is probably reaching a hundred and fifty. The experience these two have compared to her in absolutely everything except probably video games and finding shady bars that don't card you in Manhattan is inmensurable. It makes her feel unsure of herself, like a rock amongst mountains.

"It's... a slow process," Anna says with a tight-lipped smile. She doesn't say just how slow, burying deep inside the struggle she is having to write anything at all... again.

Try and find the constant in this equation, she thinks sardonically.

Frank chuckles, giving himself the time to take another sip of Scotch. When he speaks again Anna can smell it in his breath. "You're a pretty girl," he says, "I'm sure you can just conjure a cute romance novel. The right publisher can put you on some best-seller list and you can call it a day."

She sees Lauren raise an eyebrow. "Why a cute romance novel?" Anna asks.

He waves a dismissive hand. "Isn't that what you ladies write nowadays? Besides angry, feminist books," he laughs.

_Oh, HELL NO_ —

"Is that the only thing you believe women can write?"

He grins. It makes her blood boil. "Well, sweet cheeks, it doesn't require a lot of thinking."

If looks could kill...

"So you think writing romance doesn't require a lot of thinking," she insists, her voice steady and cold.

Another obnoxious laugh. "Kinda pushy this one," Frank comments, glancing at Lauren while pointing a thumb at Anna.

Her nostrils flare up, her hands begin to shake. The urge to scream is there, but she steers herself. Her eyes connect with Lauren's for a brief moment and in them she finds an unreadable expression. The faintest of nods is all she sees before looking back at the man who's taking the liberty to look at her chest again. She feels like bursting with frustration, or crying, or knocking his teeth in. Or all of the above.

But instead she asks: "Do you know who writes some of the cutest romance novels in France today, sir?"

"No," he responds with a chuckle. He doesn't care to know is what he means.

"A man."

His smile falters a little before he turns to Lauren, looking for an explanation. He finds none.

"Must I also remind you," Anna pushes, "who gave us Frankenstein? Or that Agatha Christie became one of the best selling authors of all time by writing mystery books?"

"You ladies," he mutters, condescending, "Never know when to take things lightly, huh? Since when does that have to be such an offensive statement to you?"

"Since the moment you chose to pin a genre to a gender. Men can write romance just as well as women can write horror."

He smirks, staring her down. "I hate to say this, sweetheart, but I've yet to find a good horror book written by a woman."

She holds his gaze without faltering. "How is it that working at a bookstore makes it seem like I know more than you as an agent—"

Anna can see the waxy skin of his neck grow red. "I wouldn't go there, young lady—"

"But we already _did_ ," she presses. _Ohhhhh shit we did_ —she feels like free falling from a cliff, and not in a good way. "But if we must stick to this genre that doesn't seem to require a lot of thinking I can suggest something else," (just stop already you're gonna get fired) "When you're able to write anything remotely _similar_ to a novel like Wuthering Heights, I dare you to look at it and call it a cute romance novel."

She throws one last glance at Lauren who is smiling proudly behind her cocktail glass (well somebody had fun at least) before walking away on shaky legs and staring wide-eyed at anything that comes in front of her view.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ —

She doesn't feel liberated, she feels angry out of her mind and scared shitless because she has no idea who she just went off on. This could cost her her job for all she knows.

Anna dashes past the chocolate fountain with eyes full of longing, and keeps walking straight towards the restroom. She bursts in, thankful that it is empty, and goes to lock herself inside a stall before pushing her back against the door, willing her heart to ease its pounding, breathing hard through her nose. She thinks of texting Elsa, or calling her, but in the end decides against it.

When she returns ready to say that she has a stomachache so that she can go home, Hans intercepts her. He pulls her to the nearest corner with a hand tight around her bicep.

"What happened?" He asks her.

"I—"

"Frank tells me you were rude to him."

"I... may have said some things," she mumbles.

Hans looks at her with disbelief. "Do you have any idea of who he is?"

She looks downwards. "I shouldn't have said anything... I'm sorry, Hans."

His jaw flexes while his green eyes roam coldly about her face. "You're lucky Lauren was there," he says, and Anna frowns, unsure of what he means. "Just don't embarrass me like that again."

She swallows her pride. It tastes bitter. "I won't."

Hans shakes his head, his eyes softening a little. "It's better if you go now. I'll see you on Monday."

* * *

She arrives home downcast and with a bag full of chocolate goodies, ready to spend the rest of the evening watching a cheesy romcom and munching on chocolate pretzels and chocolate ice cream. She is ready to think of nothing at all, to watch as the hours tick by while she wallows and gives way to a new—hopefully brighter—day.

She greets Mr. Nap on her way to check the mail. The lights in the room haven't been fixed and Anna has to roll her eyes at the singe, sad bulb flickering its way to total darkness. Inside her mailbox there is a single envelop, and Anna knows its contents before she has pulled it out.

The handwriting on its front makes her heart ache. She should be happy to see that Elsa's postcard has arrived but it only makes her sadder. It makes the distance all the more real.

Anna doesn't wait to get to her apartment. She puts the Duane Reade plastic bag on the floor before carefully tearing open the flap of the envelope. On the front of the postcard there is an image of London's double-decker. In each window, a happy looking passenger that would otherwise be found in those newspaper caricatures; the ones with large, triangular noses and single-lined smiles. Even the driver is smiling. It looks like utopia. 

On the back of it she finds Elsa's handwriting from top to bottom. She takes her time grazing the surface with her fingertips, as if with a single touch she could take herself to the exact moment where Elsa sat down to write this. As if this touch could connect them somehow, in the physical form that she craves so much.

And there, in the middle of that flickering room, Anna sets to read her words over and over again:

_Finally found my favorite café! It's cozy and it smells like vanilla._

_They have flowers on the windowsills with roses that crawl its front_

_and chocolate biscuits that I may or may not have eaten too many of._

_I'm sure you'd love it and the London eye too, and all the romantic strolls I'd take you out_

_throughout the city._

_I keep picturing you here with me... It makes things easier and harder at the same time._

_It makes me realize that I never knew what yearning felt like until I met you._

_My heart, is it normal to miss someone the way I miss you?_

_I feel like a piece of me is not here but back in New York..._

_How many more weeks until I get to see you again?_

_In the meantime, don't forget how much I adore you._

_-E._

Anna rests her forehead against the cold metal of the mailbox, overcome with emotion; tired beyond words of this heaviness inside. Tears are beginning to prick her eyes, but she lets out a long and heavy breath to steady herself before pushing away and picking up the plastic bag off the floor.

Inside her apartment she kicks off her shoes and pads her way over to Virginia—that one precious birthday gift she's been taking care of since Elsa's been gone. She has grown so attached to her that she's not sure how she'll manage to give her away again when Elsa is back. Virginia has grown to be a lush, green plant with lively, red flowers; the size of which Anna would consider teenager-like, if one could ever define the age of plants the same way people define the age of humans.

She touches the small petals of its flowers, smiling a little as she does so. "It was a shitty day, Virginia," she tells her, "Shitty, shitty day..."

She texts Elsa to let her know she's home despite knowing she will see this until she wakes up but before she can proceed to begin her chocolate-induced comma her phone chimes in her hand.

She frowns when she sees the incoming call and answers immediately.

"Hi, love," Anna breathes.

"Hey," Elsa whispers back.

"Is everything okay? I thought you were sleeping already."

A pause. "I can't sleep..."

Anna closes her eyes at those words, understanding all too well. She pushes her plans to the back burner and goes to lie down in bed, curling up as if into the sound of Elsa's voice.

"Where are you?" She asks.

The blonde gives a dry chuckle before responding, "I'm sitting in the hallway. Not a lot of people around at this time."

She pulls her phone away from her ear to look at the time. It is nearly midnight in London.

"Is there something you wanna talk about?"

"Not really... I just wanted to say I'm sorry for acting weird today... I need you to know that nothing is wrong between us."

"It's okay, Elsa," Anna says, her voice lowered to nearly a hush. "I think I know where it's coming from anyway."

"You do?"

"I do, baby."

Silence meets her and Anna can't help but picture her sitting in the hallway with her knees pulled up to her chest, cradling her phone the same way she is doing right now. A sound then hits her ears. It is quiet but unmistakable. Elsa is crying.

It breaks her heart.

"I just miss you," her girlfriend whispers, "This whole thing... being in London... it's amazing and I love it, but I feel so strange half of the time. I feel like I can't find my ground no matter how much I try..." Her voice breaks near the end, and the tear that had threatened to fall finally does. Anna can feel it as it travels down her cheek before reaching her wrist.

What she wouldn't give to be able to hold her right now. To tell her that she understands because she feels the same way. To finally get to say, "I feel lost, too". Because then they will be in this together, and they can get out of it together. But she can tell that Elsa needs this moment; that she needs to let go of the tears that have been building up for who knows how long. So Anna lets out a shaky breath, holds herself tighter, and tries to do the thing that she knows how to do best.

"Tell me what you like about being in London," she whispers.

"What do you mean?" Elsa asks. Her voice is hoarse, weary.

Anna wipes the wet trails off her cheeks. "Yeah, what do you like about it? Is tea really that much better than coffee? How are people there compared to New York? And the institute? And the streets?"

There's a nearly imperceptible smile on the other end of the line. She can hear it. "I've told you most of this already, Anna..."

"I know," she drawls, smiling too. "But tell me, so that you can remind yourself."

She knows with as much certainty as the love they have for each other that her time will come to open up. It always does. Whether it is an outburst or a thought-out confession doesn't really matter because Elsa will always listen. She is her greatest confidante; her biggest constant. Elsa is her person, and she thinks that in one way or another she always will be. No matter the distance and no matter the time that may separate them.

They talk for almost an hour, reaching without notice a state of soft contentment that will allow them to push forward through another day, before they hang up without either of them really wanting to. It is all they have after all; all they can hold onto for now.

Back to the silence of her own apartment, Anna pushes today's events away from her mind and tries to think not of her present but of her future. She thinks about what Theo said not so many days ago, about having still so much to learn. Perhaps, she muses, it really doesn't do to dwell on the reasons behind this dreadful sensation of going astray. Perhaps it should be the opposite. To keep yourself from drowning you can't add more weight.

It is then that Anna gets up from bed, walks to her desk, and opens her journal in the last page she used. She reads the question again, grabs her pen and writes a single word below it:

_Love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guillaume Musso is one of France's most popular authors. Parce que je t'aime (Lost and Found) is probably his most famous work. He specializes in romantic thrillers.
> 
> Also, some great female horror writers: 
> 
> Shirley Jackson (The Haunting of Hill House, anyone?), Anne Rice, Daphne du Maurier (Hitchcock adapted three of her novels) & Asa Nonami


	24. Realignment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well holy shit would you look at that, this is the longest chapter of the story so far. Now some of you may say 'jfc Elena why they be so long?' but all I can tell you is that I don't know. A few things... I had the song "Like a fool" by Crazy P playing on repeat while I wrote the bar scene in this chapter, so I dunno, check it out if you wanna. 
> 
> Also, a bit of a Trigger Warning here: There's some mention of death.
> 
> Lastly, I wanted to say how grateful I am to all of you. I'll probably never get tired of saying it because you guys honestly keep me going. I've gotten so many incredible and touching messages that it is hard to convey in words how much they mean to me. Times are very strange and shitty right now, too, so I wanted to put out there that if there's anything any of you ever want to talk about no matter how personal you may think it is, I'm here. We shouldn't forget that to take care of others we have to take care of ourselves first.
> 
> Anyway... Enjoy!

It is a rainy morning in London. Placid. Gentle-sounding against the smooth stone pavement of the streets. The skies are painted a mild gray the same way it often is on clear, cloudless skies: plain and boundless, without a single trace of light bending into a different color.

Elsa walks looking ahead at the sidewalk she's treading on, oftentimes glancing up to take in her surroundings. These are the same surroundings she's passed through for nearly three months now; surroundings she is quite familiar with, but ones she can't completely regard as part of her life. She figures that five months are not long enough to call a place home. They may be enough to know your way around certain neighborhoods without a map; to have one, two or three favorite places to visit. To have a meeting spot with the friends you make, or know a few things about the way people live. But they are not enough, she thinks, to know the secret nooks and corners of the city, and develop a sense of being part of a whole.

They are not enough to not feel lost in yourself. Out of alignment; directionless.

It is complicated and so utterly simple at the same time. For Elsa lives her days with routinary ease. She wakes up, goes for a run—careful now, less impulsive—before making her way to the institute. She loves what she gets to do there, the technicalities of it as much as the practicalities. She loves the fact that she can immerse herself into doing exactly what she came here to do; to learn about the heart no longer through the lengthy, sometimes tedious lessons of a book, but through real people.

Yet... How complicated must it be? To feel as though everything makes sense except for herself. To love a city without so much as a second thought. To enjoy the walks amidst the plane trees of Green Park, or to lean against the rail of the Tower Bridge and look down at the murky waters of the Thames. To find herself increasingly looking forward to the strolls she takes through Covent Garden during the evenings with Sasha as her companion. And still, to come to love a city by means of seeking a distraction.

She wonders if it is all because she misses Anna or if there is something else, too. Something harder to decipher, something more hidden beneath her bare emotions.

She listens to the rain droplets hit the fabric of her umbrella in one continuous, subtle motion. She watches as her boots hit the thin layer of water coating the pavement, making no sound against the background of the rain falling on the city and the tires of the cars softly swooshing by. It is chilly, but not cold. Not for her at least. Still, she feels the need to cover her torso with her free arm. An involuntary action by now—it is a part of her.

Elsa is on her way to the institute, but has enough time to take a detour.

She nears the coffee shop on Midford Place before reaching its entrance in a few more strides. Inside, it is slightly crowded. Something about people looking for temporary shelter in a place that offers warm and soothing drinks.

She closes her umbrella and gets in line without checking the menu. Her phone rings inside the pocket of her coat and she pulls it out, frowning at the name on the screen. Elsa has always known Rapunzel was a night owl but this is a bit of a stretch. It is 2 AM in New York after all, but she answers the call anyway while her mind jumps to conclusions she has no time to consider.

"Rapunzel?"

"Hi," her cousin greets with a small voice.

"What's wrong?"

A sniff. "I just finished a really sad movie and I need comfort," she mutters.

Elsa stares at the back of the man standing in front of her. _Seriously?_

"You scared me, Rapunzel," she says, "I thought you were hurt or got yourself in trouble." _I thought you'd set the apartment on fire._

"But I _am..._ Elsa... the dog _died._ "

"Oh."

"Exactly..."

There's more sniffing coming from her cousin's side of the line. She then breaks into a tiny sob before speaking again. "There's also something else I need to tell you."

Elsa's stomach drops a little. She moves forward on the line, forgetting for a moment what she had planned to order.

"What is it?" She asks, scared of the answer. There is enough silence on Rapunzel's side that she is already starting to consider another set of possibilities. Did Eugene break up with her? Does this have to do with Anna—

"Remember you told me never to set the toaster on high cause it would cause it to overheat?"

Her hand goes up to press the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

"Yes..."

A well of silence.

" _Rapunzel_..."

The brunette groans. Her voice is nasal when she says: "You know by now that I set it on high and that I burned the damn thing if I'm asking this question, Elsa. Don't make me say it..."

She takes another step forward, unable to keep herself from smiling this time despite the fact that Rapunzel has gone and done it again. How many times did she tell her not to set it on high? She should have left a sticky note on it. Should have hidden the toaster altogether.

"So what, no toaster until I get back?"

"I don't need your help to buy a toaster—"

"Only to keep it from burning—"

"Shut up. Anna's coming with me to choose one tomorrow."

There's only one more person in front of her: the man she's been staring at since Rapunzel's call. He's wearing a t-shirt, dark red and worn out. It has its tag sticking out and Elsa's hand curves into itself at the need to tuck it back in.

"Rapunzel, it's a toaster not a car. Do you really need a second opinion?"

"It's just an excuse. I like spending time with Anna," she says, "She's cooler than you."

"That she is," she concedes, smirking. "Just like Eugene is cooler than you."

"That he is _not_."

Elsa chuckles. She approaches the cashier and places her order: Earl Grey tea with a dash of milk and sugar. She finds that sugar in coffee is rather appalling but when it comes to tea, it complements it.

She pays and thanks the girl before stepping to the side, catching the last of Rapunzel's question.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, where are you?"

"A coffee shop," Elsa states. It should be obvious given the exchange she just had.

"You go to a _coffee_ shop to buy _tea_? God, what have they done to you..."

She rolls her eyes. "Nothing. I went through a detox that's all."

" _You put yourself through a detox!?_ " Rapunzel screeches.

She pulls her headphones out of her ears before she goes to grab the to-go cup from the barista, giving him a smile and a mouthed Thank you.

"Not voluntarily, relax," she says, exiting the shop and opening her umbrella once more. She is waiting, as usual, to take her first sip. She scalded her tongue the first time. Never again.

"So you can go back to it then," Rapunzel suggests while Elsa resumes her way over to the institute. The detour to the coffee shop makes her walk more than is otherwise necessary, but the day is nice and she's chosen to treat is a such. As to her cousin's suggestion, she knows that one way or another she will go back to drinking coffee on a daily basis; it is everywhere in New York after all. The city runs on it just as much as it runs on electricity. But her time in London has broadened her taste when it comes to tea, and Elsa has no intention of dropping the habit any time soon.

"I'm scared of the jitters I'll get if I go back to it," she tells her.

Her cousin chuckles. " _Wuss_."

"Freak."

She waits for the light to change as she hears her cousin laugh. A black cab passes slowly by; its tires pushing the water back to a puddle by her feet before morphing into ripples that distort her own reflection. The light turns green, and she resumes her walking, careful to skip the puddle she then leaves behind.

"So... speaking of Anna..." She begins again, changing the subject. "How is she?"

Maple Street becomes University Street, and Elsa soon finds herself looking at the corner of the cardiovascular institute's building.

"Don't you guys talk like, every single day?" Rapunzel asks, failing to suppress a yawn.

"We do, and she tells me she's fine which I believe," she says, "But I just... want to make sure I guess."

Her cousin hums. "Right, well..." Silence fills the gap that she leaves in order to consider her answer. Meanwhile, droplets continue to fall upon Elsa's black umbrella while she waits for the last light to turn. "I think she's okay," the brunette says, "Though she does get spacey from time to time whenever we hang out, which is not as often as we would like cause she's _b-u-s-y_."

"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?"

"It isn't, but the boss is kinda clingy. I forget his name... Franz, Paul, whatever—"

"Hans."

"Yeah, that dude. He calls her sometimes when we're all hanging out. I mean I get it, Anna's his assistant but damn... anyway it's always work related so don't get your panties in a twist."

Elsa frowns. "I don't even know what that means."

She spots Sasha entering the building. Their eyes meet and he grins before she gives him a small wave. She remains outside, sheltered by the roof of the entrance; her umbrella still high above her head and her tea yet untouched.

"You're so strange," Rapunzel mumbles, "How do you not—okay whatever, it doesn't matter. Just don't get weird ideas about Anna is what I'm saying. Franz is a bit weird in a way I can't describe and Kristoff doesn't like him even though he's never met him, but dudes, right? He's probably just jealous cause he's not the only himbo in Anna's life now... No wait, there's also Eugene..."

"Oh- _kay_..." Elsa has no idea what that means either—she is not a dude and has never dated one—and she has not the energy to correct Hans's name again. She tries to take a sip of her tea but the hot liquid doesn't touch her mouth. She is scared; of burning herself—of something else entirely, too.

"Anna is crazy about you," Rapunzel adds, "Probably crazier now that you're away. She misses you a lot, it's kinda cute."

Elsa lowers her umbrella slowly, the sharp tip of it grazing the waterhog mat they've placed to prevent people from slipping on the wet tiles. "I miss her too," she says, "And you, and everyone, really." Emotions are beginning to take a hold of her again and she fights them by closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing.

She ends the conversation by telling her cousin that she should head to sleep and that she has to get started with work soon. Neither of those statements are a lie. Rapunzel is up appallingly late and Elsa should head inside in the next few minutes if she wants to arrive on time. But it is also the unease that she is starting to feel that is causing her to say these things with sudden urgency.

She is desperate to escape it by burying herself in her work. Not the first, nor the last time this will happen.

And as she steps inside after finally having closed her umbrella and taking the first sip of her tea, Elsa thinks that getting weird ideas about Anna had never been—nor is it now—an option.

Unfortunately, she can't say the same thing about Hans.

* * *

Humans...

Do they ever take care of themselves the way they should? Elsa has found out: not often enough.

When asked, the answer is always a variation of the same notion. The idea of a placebo-like, left-for-another-day comfort. For it is easier to fall into the habit of not trying hard enough to take care of ourselves. We leave it for the next day and watch with indifference as they begin to stack on top of each other before accumulating into a pile made up of months and years. We allow our lives to stagnate like murky waters in a swamp—because there is always tomorrow. And tomorrow you will exercise, and tomorrow you will eat better, and do better, and _think_ better. Tomorrow you will become a better version of yourself, and your body will be your temple, and your mind will attract what you desire.

But tomorrow keeps coming until it doesn't, and everything you had planned to do for yourself becomes nothing but one regretful, blurry memory for which you can do nothing but look back on when you know you're reaching the end. A mournful picture of the life you could have lived and all the things you could have done before it was too late.

Elsa has thought of this over and over again since she began med school. And as she stands in the middle of their tiny office set-up, with Sasha entertaining a little girl and chatting with a middle-aged woman before going over the details of their case research, she is hit with memories of her first year.

The cadavers. Nothing but empty shells of souls long gone—but souls... bodies... what is the difference in the end? When her parents left this world both concepts ceased to exist.

Elsa recalls the bodies they had to dissect during that first year. She in her green scrubs, washing her hands over and over again in the giant sink of the autopsy room, thinking that she couldn't do this; that she couldn't go through with staring at the body of another dead person again. Soulless. Lifeless. Anxiety kept running rampant through her veins, clogging them with fear, closing in on the pathways of her lungs.

She remembers her weak resolution, and her nauseating reluctance as she stood amongst a group of young med students who were asked to examine the body before even applying scalpel to skin. She remembers that he was a man of nearly sixty years old. A white-collar given his clean nail beds and his non-calloused hands. Clean-shaven; waxy, pale skin. She recalls the man's swollen limbs and how she came to—shyly, overly hesitant—guess right that this person had suffered from congestive heart failure.

That was the first time she ever thought of this question, and of every other that came with it. Did he have a family? Was he a good man to others? What was his life like?

It was during those times when Elsa encountered strangers that had come to the end of their lives that she was reminded that as an aspiring doctor, she couldn't just focus on how a person may have died, but also how they had lived. It had opened up an entirely new range of questions that constantly filled her mind from her very first year up until this point.

They filled her mind the same way they do now while Sasha goes over the description of the study with the woman and, by proxy, the little girl sitting on the other chair with her legs restlessly swinging about as they hover over the floor.

The research is simple: a study consisting of questions regarding medical history and current lifestyle. Data gathering and thesis construction on tendencies that lead to plaque building up inside the arteries until they begin to block blood flow. Nothing overly practical and nothing overly complicated to explain, which is why Elsa suggested that Sasha should be one doing it since the beginning. Elsa tends to speak mumbo jumbo when she tries to explain medical jargon to practically everyone except Anna. Why that is, she's never cared to understand.

They go over the questions with relative ease, only interrupted when Mrs. Davies turns her attention to the little girl sitting on a vinyl stool by the wall, sketching something on her notebook and singing under her breath. The leg that isn't propped on the chair keeps swinging back and forth; perhaps not out of impatience, like Elsa had suspected at the beginning, but out of self-restrained, youthful energy. She seems to be around nine or ten, her hair a dark blonde unlike Elsa's. She gives her a toothy grin every time their eyes meet, and Elsa returns it with a soft version of her own. Mrs. Davies is nearing her sixties and her hair is dyed with a brown that edges on black—a color now used for the sake of covering the gray lines that are starting to reveal themselves. She is the girl's grandmother, but neither Elsa nor Sasha inquire about the mother. It is not their place to know.

"We're nearly done, Mrs. Davies," Sasha announces. They are sitting behind the same desk Elsa once contemplated having to lie on for the sake of placing an ice-pack behind her thigh. She is doing the input of the answers while Sasha goes through the questions. Soon they will conclude the interview and take a look at a set of scans Mrs. Davies has brought along before sending her and her granddaughter their way. Sasha will lift his palm up, asking for a high-five.

But before they can get to that part, he pulls the scans out of a creased manila folder and his mood shifts the moment he looks at them. A faint frown comes and goes before the woman across from them can notice, but Elsa catches it with dreadful clarity. Mrs. Davies is distracted once more by her granddaughter just as Sasha leans closer to her.

"Look at this CT scan," he whispers, "The calcifications." He points at the scan but Elsa doesn't need guidance. She can see the white spots heavily scattered around the image that is meant to be her heart: a grayish smudge between two black shapes representing the lungs if looked from above.

Elsa knows what the calcifications mean. These white spots, she has seen them before, when she had yet to understand the meaning behind them as she looked at the X-Ray images hanging bright in front of her mother's hospital bed.

The walls around her chest cave in, pushing against her own heart. She bites her lip once before inhaling hard in an attempt to hide her reaction. Sasha doesn't see her true emotions and Elsa thinks that it is for the best. He doesn't know that both of her parents are gone. He doesn't know that her mother died of a heart failure and not in the car crash that took her father.

What he does know are the circumstances they're now facing. He knows how to interpret a CT scan correctly, and it is because of this that he understands the meaning behind Elsa's silent proposal before giving her a nearly imperceptible nod.

She leans across the desk in order to speak with Mrs. Davies at the same time that he stands up with an easy smile that he directs at the little girl. "What'cha drawing?" He asks her.

Elsa waits until he's stepped away to place the CT scan flat on the desk, showing it to the woman who now watches her with a curious expression.

"Mrs. Davies," she begins in a lowered voice, "Do you mind if I ask when you got these taken?"

The woman shrugs. "I don't know, luv," she says as she tries to recall the memory. "Some months ago, I reckon. Maybe more, maybe less."

"Right, okay..." Elsa watches as Sasha kneels in front of the stool occupied by the little girl. Lucy is her name; she will have a hard time forgetting it. She turns back to Mrs. Davies. "What did you get them taken for?"

"For some other study. They paid good, those lung doctors."

_They may have paid good,_ Elsa wants to say, _but they should have told you something was wrong_. She is leaning more towards med students in this case because she thinks— _hopes_ —that these people, whoever they may be, did not just look at her heavily blocked arteries and thought that it was okay to send her on her way without so much as a warning.

Elsa leans closer still. She thinks about giving her a smile but finds it impossible to feign it. "I'd recommend you take this to an actual doctor, Mrs. Davies."

"Why?" The woman asks, oblivious and confused. "Aren't you and that young lad doctors then?"

This succeeds in drawing a small smile out of her. How many times has Anna implied the same thing? And how many times after that has she said: "Not yet."

The woman's lips form a small 'o'. She appears surprised but not disappointed.

Elsa tries a more direct tactic. "This is something that should be diagnosed and looked at by a real doctor," she says, pushing the scan farther across the desk. "Do you see the white spots here? These are called artery calcifications. They can be pretty dangerous if they're left untreated for a while."

"But I feel fine, luv," Mrs. Davies states, pulling her handbag closer to her chest.

She nods, accepts this and continues: "The body can trick us like that sometimes, but things like these... they tend to go on for a while without any obvious symptoms."

They fall into a silence that is only filled by the conversation going on nearby between Sasha and Lucy. He is asking her if she has any more drawings she'd like to show him before she gives him an excited, albeit tiny yes. Elsa thinks for a moment that Sasha will make a great pediatric cardiologist one day.

Mrs. Davies is lost in the contemplation of her own heart, staring at the image with a hand grazing the dark surface of the scan. Her hands are worn and calloused; her nails are clipped short. How has she lived her life this far? What choices has she made that have led her to this moment?

"Is it bad, you reckon?"

Elsa's heart drops a little. She wants to say that the amount of white spots she is looking at can kill her. She wants to ask her to go see a doctor as soon as they leave this building; to think of that little girl whose head is perhaps full of dreams and far away from the mere thought of losing her grandmother. But she wills her mind to stay clear. She wills herself to remain professional.

"It could be," she states with difficulty. "Have you checked your cholesterol lately?"

The woman shakes her head. "Don't think I have. It is bloody hard to keep up with all these tests you people make me get for these studies."

"Okay... how about this. Why don't you go check your cholesterol levels as soon as you can and bring the doctor these scans?" Elsa suggests.

Mrs. Davies nods slowly, still looking at the haunting images of her heart. "I could do that."

"Good." Elsa gives her what she hopes is a reassuring smile before saying, "You guys are free to go now if you'd like."

This is heard by both Lucy and Sasha as the former leaps out of her stool with a wide, ready-to-go grin. She closes her notebook and turns to Sasha with her neck craned up before extending her hand with overt formality. "It was very nice to meet you, sir."

Sasha brings a hand to his chest as he turns to look at the blonde. His eyes are brimming with pure and unfiltered delight—he could cry.

Elsa rolls her eyes and smiles while the two shake hands. She follows suit as Mrs. Davies stands up, puts the manila folder with the CT scans back inside her handbag, and straightens the invisible creases of her clothes. A small sigh escapes Elsa when she sees the woman lift up her arm to welcome Lucy's embrace around her waist. She can tell she feels protected in the presence of her grandmother but the sight only breaks her heart.

When they shake hands, Elsa can't stop herself from covering their handshake with her left hand and emphasize that it is important that she goes to see a doctor as soon as she can. Mrs. Davies gives her a weak nod, understanding the gravity of the situation, before she thanks them both and gives them a dejected smile that Elsa will always remember.

She watches as they walk down the hallway while Lucy clings to her grandmother's waist and she finally understands, like a hunch—heavy and heart wrenching—that her grandmother is the person the girl cares about the most. But it is precisely this thought, combined with the images Mrs. Davies carries inside her handbag like dead weight, that suddenly make Elsa feel as though she can't breathe.

She feels like her entire being is closing in on herself.

"I'll be right back," she mumbles before walking away in the opposite direction, not bothering to stick around for Sasha's response.

Elsa reaches the restroom's door just as the first of her tears begin to make their way down her cheeks. A woman is standing in front of the mirror, reapplying her lipstick, and Elsa does her best to hide her face as she locks herself inside the nearest stall.

She pushes her back against the door, her face scrunching up as the tears finally break free from her eyes. Her chest is heaving in a desperate attempt to keep her sobs from making any noise while she brings her shaky hands up to cover her face. She feels weak, powerless; the white marks on Mrs. Davies's heart appearing once again on the back of her eyelids. The door to the restroom opens and closes before the space is engulfed in silence. She sees herself in Lucy, in her oblivion, and it's as though her parents' loss were happening all over again.

Another sob breaks through before her knees give out. Her tears continue to fall no matter how hard she tries to make them stop.

Somewhere, swimming below her consciousness, Elsa realizes that she has gone to the restroom wearing her coat. But more prominent still is the desire to have Anna right next to her. To feel the comfort of her arms wrapped around her shoulders, or her fingertips threading softly through her hair. She aches to feel safe once more in Anna's presence. To hear her voice, and to have her whisper in her ear over and over again that it will be okay even if Elsa feels deep down and with a heavy, broken heart that she has just gotten a glimpse of how Mrs. Davies is probably going to die.

* * *

It has been a semi lovely Monday so far. It's been rainy and productive, and minus the bathroom-stall breakdown, Elsa could consider this a decent way to start the week—optimism all the way.

Now, it may be true that Elsa spent the rest of her hours at the institute more quiet than usual; that she stepped out of the restroom with cleaned up, albeit red eyes, and her white coat hanging from the crook of her shoulder like a sign of defeat. It may be true that Sasha welcomed her into his arms without a single question; that he gave her the space she needed during lunch, but also that he treated her to an early dinner at a Thai restaurant in Fitzrovia for the sake of chatting about everything and nothing in particular. It may be true that this all succeeded in distracting her for the most part. She's had all these years, after all, to learn the art of suppressing her own emotions. Of pretending not that everything is okay, but that she needs to keep moving forward without dwelling on the traces of any emotion that may threaten to swallow her whole.

It may be true, as well, that she craves the comfort that Anna represents now more than ever. That she craves to hear her voice, and feel her skin, and get lost in the love reflected in her eyes. Because memories are no longer enough, and Elsa is starting to feel like something is shifting inside of her. A distortion of sorts fed by insecurities, grief and longing; fed by circumstances outside of her own control.

But what is left for her to do?

Keep moving forward.

She arrives with Sasha at the dorms with her blonde hair covered in the fine droplets of an incessant rain that has been falling upon London since last night. It was Sasha's idea to walk in the rain without an umbrella—a reckless, sort of genius idea that reminded her of Anna in a way. Her girlfriend had a thing for leaving her umbrella at home on purpose, always saying that she'd forgotten to check the forecast until Elsa began to realize that even if the sky were colored a dark gray akin to doom, Anna would still leave her apartment without it.

Elsa hadn't understood, until she did.

Walking in the rain feels like an emotional cleanse, and it makes Elsa wonder if that is precisely why Anna does it. It forces you to focus on nothing else but the feeling of cold water falling upon your face as it slowly begins to seep through your clothes. It is about ridding yourself of the thought that being unprotected from the rain is an inconvenience, because eventually you will dry yourself off, and eventually the rain that once was will no longer be.

She runs her hands through her hair once, smiling a little as she does so. Sasha doesn't hug her goodbye this time but instead gives her the high five he didn't get to have after Mrs. Davies and her granddaughter were gone.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he tells her with his signature, charming smile.

Before going up to her room she goes to the lobby desk and asks if there is any correspondence for Elsa Anderssen. The girl sorts through the office basket and pulls one envelope out of the pile. It is lightly smudged with three USPS stamps on the front and another one with the face of the Statue of Liberty on it. The last one of which Elsa suspects Anna used for decoration purposes.

Her smile broadens at the sight of it. She then makes her way to her dorm room, finds no one inside to greet, and sets to pulling out of her drawer the dry clothes that she takes with her to the showers. She is practicing self-control here, keeping herself from tearing open the envelope's seal while she is still wearing a sweater that feels glued to her skin and jeans that are turning her thighs into two blocks of ice.

She showers quickly as she tries to focus on the positive events of the day, letting everything else wash off her like the water cascading down her body.

Once she is back inside her room she finds her roommate already there, which makes her take her laptop, a book and Anna's postcard down to the common room.

Downstairs, Elsa finds an empty table near the farthest end. Being a Monday, most sitting areas are occupied by students working on assignments or studying, but Elsa won't be doing any of those things tonight. She will read her girlfriend's postcard; she will catch up on the adventures of a certain young girl named Lily Owens; and she will wait for Anna's video call.

The card Anna has chosen this time draws an unexpected chuckle out of her. It is so simple. So... New York. The back of it is, predictably, covered by the redhead's messy, yet stylish handwriting:

_I know what you're gonna say..._

_Anna, you couldn't have chosen a more cliché postcard?_

_Why no, I couldn't. What's more classic than the I heart NY logo?_

_Moving on, I've decided to make a list of all the places I'm gonna take you to when you come back._

_I'm searching for inspiration everywhere I can because one of my biggest sources is off in London_

_researching all about atherosclerosis (I had to look that up to make sure I was spelling it right)._

_And speaking of that. Have I told you how proud I am of you? I'm sure I have but I'd like to remind you._

_Theo told me recently to remember why I started writing, and I think it's fitting to pass on the message._

_So when you feel off, try to remember why you ever started in the first place and why you continue everyday..._

_I will always have your back, Elsa, and I will always be there for you when you're feeling down._

_You're my heart, after all. And I can never leave my heart behind no matter how far she may be sometimes._

_Yes you might say: Anna that doesn't make sense. But I don't care. It does to me._

_I miss you every moment that we're not together..._

_and I LOVE YOU, you sexy, intelligent, kindhearted woman._

_-A_

Elsa's face is adorned with a smile from start to finish. She feels like her chest is blooming; the weight on her shoulders easing up a little with every word scribbled by Anna's hand.

The minutes pass before they turn into hours. Two: That is how long Elsa waits for Anna to let her know that she's arrived home and is ready for their video call. Up until this point she has allowed herself very little opportunity to let her mind idle, and by the time her girlfriend's face lights up the screen of her computer, Elsa is more than ready to give herself a break.

"Hey you," Anna says.

She is all cheeky smiles and bright eyes as she settles herself on top of her bed still wearing her office clothes, only then pulling at the tie constricting her hair and letting it fall freely over her shoulder. Elsa follows every movement with close attention, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could run her fingers through Anna's hair.

"Hi, sweetheart," she responds, her voice soft without being weak.

Anna lies fully on the bed, her elbows propping her up in front of the computer. "How did research go today?"

Elsa considers lying for a moment but she can't bring herself to pretend like everything went well. Not with Anna.

"It was a little overwhelming," she replies honestly.

"Why? What happened?"

She pauses before giving an answer. How much of it can she say out loud without dragging herself back to that moment?

"We had a lady and her granddaughter come in today for the study," Elsa begins, "The interview went as usual but she showed us some scans of her chest and they were..." She takes a forlorn breath. "The calcium levels were high on her arteries. She had a lot of blockage..."

"Oh," her girlfriend breathes. "That's not good at all, is it?"

Elsa shakes her head slowly. "It could lead to heart failure," she mutters.

"That's..." But Anna doesn't finish the sentence. Elsa knows exactly what she was going to say, so she nods. That is what took her mother's life.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Anna asks her instead, her voice tender; full of love. "Or I can distract you, too. Whatever you need I'm all up for."

This girl, Elsa thinks, what did she ever do to deserve her?

Still, she doesn't believe that discussing Mrs. Davies's frail heart will do anybody any good. So she decides right then, hoping—nearly praying—that Mrs. Davies follows her advice. That she gets to see a doctor and that when she does, it isn't too late. That her heart is strong enough to endure many more years and that Lucy, her granddaughter, doesn't get to experience for a long time what Elsa did.

"Can we talk about something else?" She says, "I feel like I've drilled a hole through my mind thinking about it all day."

Anna grimaces. "We don't want that. Your mind's a national treasure."

She manages a smile. "No, yours is."

The redhead flips her hair in feigned vanity. "I'll take that."

Elsa laughs at this. It feels liberating.

"Oh, I know what I can tell you!" Anna continues, "I went off on someone at the party on Friday."

" _What?_ " She leans closer immediately. "Why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

"Time zones, baby. And we both got busy."

Elsa begins to recall her weekend then. She'd gone on a trip with the group to the Tower of London before going to see the Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty's Theatre. She remembers half of her colleagues groaning at that, one or two people mumbling that they had already seen it on Broadway. Anna on the other hand had spent most of her waking hours searching for inspiration, writing tids and bits, going through her old journals. She'd had dinner with Kristoff on Sunday night, too; all of which had made Elsa glad.

"Okay... so what happened then?"

Anna tells her everything from the moment Lauren approached her at the party to her fixation with a chocolate fountain she never got around to trying out. She describes Mr. Frank as a rather hideous, gross and misogynistic person, and Elsa's blood boils at the thought of somebody, _anybody_ , leering at Anna the way he did. It isn't jealousy, nor is it possessiveness what goes through her mind. It is anger; a pure surge of outrage directed at a man capable of thinking that he had a right to disrespect and look down on Anna simply because she was a woman. And although she admits that Anna's reaction could have gotten her in serious trouble with Hans, Elsa is still unable to keep herself from blurting out—

" _Good._ "

"Wait, what?"

"I said _good_. I'm glad you told him off, and I'm proud of you for doing that."

"But it was scary," she admits.

Elsa hums in agreement. "What did he say afterwards?"

Anna blushes. "I don't know I walked away really fast."

The blonde bites her lip as she tries to suppress a giggle. There's a mental image being created in her mind. Now that she knows Anna's job is not on the line, nothing remains but the humor of this ordeal.

"It's not funny," Anna says even as her smile grows.

"It kind of is," Elsa giggles.

Her girlfriend gives out a small laugh that turns into a deep, weary groan. She goes to cover her face with her hands. "I just need a vacation, I swear."

"Come to London then."

Anna stops halfway through dragging her palms down her cheeks, leaving her lips puckered and the skin below her eyes sag. It makes for a lovely sight, really. Just gorgeous.

"My parents want to come and spend Thanksgiving here," Anna mentions.

Elsa opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. "That's—" _Definitely not what I expected to hear_ "—that's good, right?"

"Are you kidding? I haven't seen them since the whole graduation fiasco and the Rapunzel breakdown. It should be good and fun, and by good and fun I mean awkward."

A chuckle. "It will be okay, Anna. At least they know where you stand. And you did mention that things were getting a little better now."

The redhead shrugs with discouragement. It leaves an indentation on the mood that was present in their conversation only moments ago. It is then that Elsa chooses not to bring up London again.

"You know what's also next month?" Her girlfriend asks in an attempt to change the subject.

Elsa sighs. She knows the answer; it fills her with a dreadful sadness that shouldn't be there in the first place.

"It's our anniversary," she murmurs.

Her girlfriend nods with a soft expression while Elsa catches from her peripheral vision somebody approaching. A guy points at the empty chair across from her and asks her if she's using it. She flashes him with what she hopes is a genuine smile before she shakes her head. The moment acts as a stabilizer. It clears the air a little.

"I can't believe it's only been a year," Anna says.

"Has time dragged that bad for you?" She asks, teasing.

"No _,_ " the redhead drawls, "I just feel like it's been longer than that... I feel like I've known you my whole life."

The statement pulls a sigh out of her. It softens her—changes her entire mood. Like the reassurance of everlasting love she didn't know she needed. Is it possible that things like these could be real? To feel like you've met someone in previous lives, reconnecting with them over and over again like two souls never meant to be apart?

Elsa gazes into Anna's eyes and catches the familiar glint in those teal-colored pools of hers. It is in them that she finds her answer.

"Maybe we have..."

Anna grins. "But we haven't."

"No," she says, "I mean literally we haven't but maybe—I don't know, in a way we always did? And that's why when we met something just..."

"Clicked."

"Yeah..."

The redhead gives an expression that is easily read. She understands.

"Are you saying we were meant to be together?"

The blonde covers the side of her face with her hand, blushing. "I don't know what I'm saying," she laughs, "It probably sounds like a bunch of cheesy nonsense."

"It doesn't," Anna states. Her voice is soft yet serious, and Elsa realizes right then and there that this is something she has always thought to be true.

They fall into a brief silence that is not uncomfortable. Elsa catches people roaming about the common room but none of it registers in her mind. She is far too focused on the way her girlfriend tilts her head and looks her straight in the eye.

"You know the first thing I'm gonna do when I see you again?"

"What?"

A beaming smile suddenly breaks across Anna's features, lighting up her whole face. "I'm gonna hug you really, really tight and never let go."

* * *

Three weeks go by as time settles heavily into November. The days are starting to become shorter and constantly rainy. The air is getting colder and the skies are beginning to loom above the city in one engulfing, single-toned mood.

None of this has a negative effect on Elsa if she were being honest. She's come to relish the lower temperatures of London's fall the same way she does with New York's winter. It is as though they encapsulated a feeling of deceleration—a stillness in time. As if everything and everyone slowed down the same way snow falls and hits the ground.

Then again, this weather isn't for everyone...

"I hate this," Sasha mumbles, his chin burying itself deep into the navy blue fabric of his scarf and his hands looking for shelter inside the pockets of his coat.

The group is heading to the British Museum today, led by Professor Park and Tracy all the way at the front. They all have umbrellas hooked on the back of their elbows or inside their backpacks, and all of them are wearing layer upon layer of fabric as if they had not come from New York knowing a thing about cold weather. They are all standing between Elsa and Tracy too, even if, every so often, Elsa catches the brunette's eyes; keen and indecipherable.

Elsa has seen her every weekend for the past few months, and every other weekday, too, but it is rare that Tracy approaches her at all without the intention of asking her something that is not related to the trip. It is so rare in fact, that if it weren't because Elsa keeps finding her intently staring during trips like this, she would think Tracy was not interested in her anymore.

It is an irking sensation; one she chooses not to dwell on for the sake of her own sanity.

Or so she tells herself...

"I say we ditch the group and go get a nice, steamy cup of tea," Sasha suggests in a lowered voice.

Elsa chuckles before elbowing his arm.

The British Museum is an imposing, long-withstanding symbol of humanity's footprint on the history of the world, and once the group of twelve pseudo-adults, one questionable adult and one real adult enter through its gates, Elsa takes everything in with one sweeping glance.

She looks around at the nearly colossal space that is the Great Court while most of the group shakes off the tension that their bodies had accumulated during the long—but not really—walk here. She looks up at the glass ceiling that opens up to the overcast, gray sky, and then down at the people roaming about like lost souls in Dante's Limbo. She follows the group towards the entrance of the Egyptian gallery as she vaguely listens to Professor Park's instructions: They are free to join a guided tour or to explore the museum at their own pace, but they must all meet by the exit in three hours. Sasha hands her a map while she thinks that a guided tour has never been her thing, and that three hours are not enough for this kind of place.

She sees Tracy walk off by herself while Professor Park and a few other students begin to trail after a tour guide, but smiles when she finds Sasha walking next to her and into the gallery. For being an extrovert, he seems to have learned quite well when she needs solitude and when she is up for some company. Like a radar that only the people closest to her end up developing.

They explore Egypt together, then the world of Alexander and the Assyrian empire. Sasha gushes about almost every sculpture, constantly in awe, in enthusiastic astonishment. Elsa takes her time reading the descriptions, learning about the emperors, the goddesses and the gods that once reigned over entire civilizations. She checks the map every so often, always catching the phrase printed on its front.

_Two million years of human history and culture,_ it reads.

_Stolen or burrowed_? She thinks.

They run into Tracy somewhere by the Chinese Tomb Guardians after losing Sasha twice and taking a bench break in front of Native America headdresses. They find her alone and engrossed in the glazed ceramic figures that once belonged to the Tang dynasty—according to Elsa's map.

Sasha pats her shoulder with urgency even as the brunette senses their presence and turns around, giving Elsa no time to swat his hand away.

She approaches them slowly, her eyes dancing between the two before focusing on the blonde.

"How are you guys liking the museum?" She asks.

"I love it," Sasha states while Elsa only nods.

The girl chuckles before biting her lip. It is the first time Elsa sees her doing this; a gesture that isn't meant to be suggestive but rather a telltale of the girl's nervousness.

"Are you guys joining the rest of the group later today?"

"For what?" Elsa asks.

"They're going to a pub," Sasha chimes in, giving her a sheepish grin when Elsa looks at him. The first thing she realizes is that he wants to go; the second, that he will try to convince her to go; and the last, that he will most likely succeed.

Tracy smirks the moment she understands their silent interaction but doesn't add anything else. She tells them that she will see them later and with a final glance in Elsa's direction, she walks away.

"She likes you," Sasha says when she's out of earshot.

_You don't say._ "So it seems," she replies coldly.

They begin to walk at a slow pace again, spending little to no time studying the rest of the objects in the room.

"Does she know you have a girlfriend?"

"She's met her."

Sasha's mouth goes agape. "But she's not actively pursuing you is she?"

"Seems like not anymore."

He crosses his arms, narrows the grayish blue eyes behind his spectacles. "That's sketchy."

She can only nod.

The three hours are up soon after they conclude their tour. They continue to act up the role of tourists for a couple more hours before Professor Park releases them. For a moment, Elsa considers the idea of having tea with the professor so that she can soak up some of her medical wisdom, but the mental image is so bizarre that she pushes it as far away from her mind as she can. It is best to socialize with people her age, she figures. Fake it til you make it, Anna would say. Even if that means joining the group on a hunt for alcohol that leads them straight to a place called The London Gin Club. 

Gin... Elsa doesn't recall the last time she had it—if at all—, but the place is warm and inviting with its vintage signs hanging all over its walls, and the jolly people enjoying one more weekend of their lives.

They're barely looking at the menu and Sasha is already having the time of his life; his shoulders bouncing up and down, his smile wide from ear to ear. This is the kind of environment he thrives in: the energy of dozens of strangers reinvigorating him the same way a quiet afternoon in the library does so for Elsa.

More than half of the group has come along, including Tracy, but Elsa doesn't pay her any mind this time. She's resolved to have a good time tonight no matter how much longing her heart may be filled with, and no matter how much she still wishes a certain someone were here with her.

"So what are you getting?" Sasha asks, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Elsa looks at the menu as they settle themselves by the bar. She could go for wine as usual... but what the hell, this is a gin club.

Let her have tonight, if only for a while.

"The eighteen-eighties' Gimlet," she decides, her voice mixing in with the sound of the music and the conversations all around her.

Sasha cups his mouth before hollering, "Eighteen-eighties' Gimlet comin' _right_ _up_!"

The blonde laughs at this as she watches him order the drinks with an ease that is almost enviable. She is beginning to let loose of the tension that often builds up whenever she's surrounded by a crowd.

Her phone vibrates inside the pocket of her black pants and she pulls it out while simultaneously accepting the cocktail that Sasha hands her over. It is a text from Anna that makes her smile, containing three simple sentences: _Have fun, I miss you,_ and _I love you._

"Anna?" He asks, smirking.

Elsa nods as she types a response. She hesitates for a second before pulling the phone away from her face and pointing its front camera at herself and at Sasha. A selfie. That is what people do in occasions like these, right? The picture she ends up sending to Anna has her smiling and Sasha making a weird face behind her. That will do. It states their blossoming friendship rather well.

"So when is she coming?"

"She's... not," she says, putting her phone away with a frown. "I'm sure she would have mentioned something already."

Elsa doesn't want to talk about this tonight. She doesn't want to accept that the memories she expected to create in London with Anna will remain nothing more than wishful thinking.

Sasha pouts behind his glass just as Elsa goes to try her own cocktail. It is strong. Very, _very_ strong.

_Sweet mother of G_ —

"This tastes like nothing."

She stares at him.

" _What_? It doesn't."

The cocktail _does_ taste like something, but Elsa drinks it all anyway. She drinks one before Sasha orders another round that goes nearly as fast as the first one. It is the conversation, she tells herself, or the feel of the room; the communal energy; the music. It is _something_ that overtakes her until she goes to the restroom and the realization hits her right in the face: She is tipsy. As. Hell.

She walks back to the bar with this newfound, tiny fact about herself only to find another cocktail waiting for her. It draws no reaction whatsoever. She knows her limit and she has not reached it.

Give her another cocktail after this and she probably will.

They cheer to something—whatever it is, Elsa forgets it as soon as it's left their lips. She sips more slowly this time, conscious of her current state, and mildly convinced that she should probably order water. She forgets this, too. They discuss London before making plans to travel all over the world once they become doctors and then retire. They will go to Thailand, they say, and then to Japan, and then all the way up to Siberia where Sasha's mother was born. They will go to Norway and Sweden and a few other countries that Elsa won't recall in the morning.

"We're gonna be like those old, cute couples that travel the world and then make it to the national news or some social media thing," Sasha gushes, "It'll be you and Anna, and me and my future husband."

Elsa nods excitedly before she takes another sip. The drink doesn't taste as strongly, and Elsa wonders if the bartender has been putting less amounts of gin in each cocktail. She observes him suspiciously for a moment, her blue eyes glassy below her frowning brow. 

It is then that her gaze finds Tracy again sitting on the farthest side of the bar, talking to a few people from their group. She appears to be retelling a story—making herself the center of attention. This is something Elsa has often noticed; the way everyone in the group seems to gravitate towards her like the cool kid in school everyone wants to be friends with. It makes Elsa wonder if there is something she is not seeing.

_She probably didn't flirt with them to the point of exhaustion._

That must be it, yes.

Tracy's eyes connect with her own.

"Speaking of future husband—"

She whips her head back to Sasha. 

"Look at that guy over there," he says lowly, his head nodding imperceptibly at another corner of the bar. "He's been staring this way since we got here."

Elsa cranes her neck to take a better look. Subtlety has flown out of the window tonight.

"What makes you think he's looking at you?" Elsa asks, teasing. 

"When a gay knows, he knows."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You wouldn't know, you're a lesbian."

"Rude."

Sasha bites into his lips. She can see in his features the desire to go up there and strike a conversation. And really, who is Elsa to deny him that?

"You should go say hi," she says.

His eyes widen. "I'm not just gonna leave you here."

It's the perfect excuse, if she's being honest. She can just finish this cocktail and call it a night without feeling guilty about cutting Sasha's fun short. The gin is starting to get to her good. She needs to take a nap. And eat pizza. And call Anna, maybe.

"I'm not a kid, Sasha," she mumbles, lovingly patting his chest. "I can take care of myself while you go do your... man business."

Her friend wiggles his eyebrows at her and she grimaces. She doesn't need the mental image. He laughs out loud before dropping a chaste kiss on her cheek and mumbling, "You're the best," and "I'll be right over there if you need me."

And with that, he is gone.

Elsa pulls out her phone with the purpose of texting Anna but somehow ends up going through her pictures instead. She goes back months, lingering on the ones where Anna is present. There is one taken in Central Park, with the redhead sitting on the grass, her eyes closed while her features bathe in the summer's warmth. Elsa skips in time, landing on a picture of her girlfriend holding a sandwich and smiling through a mouthful. "You look like a chipmunk," she remembers telling her. "A very happychipmunk," Anna had said. There are photos of them together in many parts of New York: an evening in Bryant Park, a walk by the Hudson, a dinner in the West Village. These places are seared into Elsa's mind in a way that will never allow her to look at them without reminiscing the times when she was the most happy. 

She then lands on a picture her girlfriend once sent her while Elsa was in class. Anna is winking at the camera as she lies on her bed, wearing a loose tank top that shows off her freckled collarbones, its fabric thin enough that Anna's hardened nipples can be seen through it. 

Elsa stares at it; gets lost in it. The things she would do to Anna right now if she were—

"Here."

She slams her phone face down on the bar, scared out of her wits. 

Tracy is standing by the stool Sasha has left unoccupied. She's staring at her with bemusement, still touching the glass of clear liquid she's just placed on the bar.

"What is this?" Elsa asks, putting her phone away while heat continues to rise in her cheeks.

"Water?" Tracy's smile grows before it turns into a smirk. _Dear God_ _she knows._

Still, she pretends to eye the drink with suspicion.

"Seriously, Elsa? You may think I'm an asshole but I would never do that to anyone, especially you."

"I never said—" She stops herself. Has she ever called her an asshole? She doesn't remember— _Yes, you have, just not in her face._

Tracy's smirk leaves her completely. Hazel eyes focus on her before she asks: "Do you really think that little of me?"

Elsa sighs. She reaches for the glass of water and takes a big gulp. It is refreshing and much needed, although she will deny this to anybody who asks.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

The brunette nods. She then drums her knuckles against the surface of the bar, looking everywhere that isn't the blonde sitting next to her. She may be searching for something to say, who knows? Elsa has no clue.

Is it getting louder in here or is that just the alcohol?

"I see you were watching me," Tracy says nonchalantly.

"It's what I do." _You sound like a creep. Stop she's gonna get ideas._

"Should I be flattered?"

"No."

Tracy throws her head back in a laugh so unexpected that it throws Elsa off balance. Does this girl just enjoy being rejected?

"Okay, you know what, I need to ask," she blurts out.

The brunette waits, her hand reaching for a lowball glass that Elsa hadn't seen until now. She searches for the water without looking and her hand comes back with her Gimlet cocktail. She stares at it.

_This will do._

"Ask what?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you needed to ask," Tracy says, arching her eyebrow.

_Oh, right._ She nods once, utterly serious. "I want to know what you want," she says, "I made myself clear and you seem to have gotten the message but somehow you didn't so I want to know exactly what you want from me." She feels as though her words are tumbling out of her lips without checking in with her brain first.

Tracy bites the inside of her cheek as she carefully places the glass back on the bar.

"You're pretty smart, Elsa. I figured you would have known by now."

The blonde glares at her, or tries. Her eyelids feel heavy.

"I just wanna be friends that's all."

That is highly unlikely to ever happen, she thinks, but something in the seriousness of her statement makes her feel like Tracy actually means it. It keeps her from giving out a snarky reply at least. Does that mean they'll become actual friends? Well, it feels a little too late for that now.

"You should drink that water," Tracy suggests, "I think you've had too much gin."

She closes her eyes tightly. She feels woozy _._ "I think I have."

"Finish the water and I'll call you a cab."

She could chug it, she knows she can, but the idea brings up a distasteful grimace that she is unable to conceal. She'd probably barf if she tried.

"What are you drinking?" Elsa asks in a mumble.

"Whiskey."

"That's gross."

Tracy snorts. "It's a matter of taste. The first time I tried it I was in Ireland and it knocked me out so hard I spent the next day in a crampy hostel bed."

"You've been to Ireland?"

She nods, tilting her lowball glass, sipping from it. Her hand goes up to push her hair back in one swift motion, and Elsa sees the three helix piercings on her ear before catching her scent again: sandalwood without the nicotine. "Backpacked it all the way from France to Ireland once," she says.

"That's," Elsa frowns, not believing what she's about to say, "That's really cool."

"It's what I do," the brunette says with a smile, mirroring her own words.

Elsa goes silent. She has no idea what else to say. She wants to finish the water, go back to the dorms and pass out thinking of all the ways she could be kissing Anna right now. 

"So tell me about Anna."

"Why do you wanna know about her?"

"Because she's your girlfriend."

It is so hard to think right now Elsa doesn't even try. The music seems to be blasting through the speakers of the bar. The conversations are getting louder somehow. Is there a level between tipsy and drunk? What is buzzed? Does that go before tipsy, or after? Why is Tracy acting like a normal human being? And what could Elsa possibly say about Anna other than—

"She's the most sensational person I have ever met in my life."

Tracy smirks.

"Care to elaborate?"

There are two things in Elsa's life that she could spend hours rambling about. One of them is the heart; its functions; its diseases; the fact that such a fragile, mushy thing can go on for decades pumping life into a full-grown body. 

The other one is Anna; the freckles that adorn her skin; the way her smile radiates and her eyes twinkle when she's happy; the fact that she's in love with words, and likes to drink coffee a little too much, and is a chocolate junkie. The fact that she doesn't know how to ice skate very well; that she's able to fall asleep anywhere; that she is strong, and selfless, and caring beyond a trace of doubt.

And perhaps she can blame it on the gin. Perhaps she can blame it on the distance. Perhaps she can blame it on the fact that by talking about this she can invoke the memories she's been longing for all these months.

Because when Tracy asks her to elaborate, she does. 

* * *

The day before their one year anniversary finds her in a small tea house on the corner across from the dorms.

It has been raining all day: a steady downpour.

Elsa sits in a corner of the room, right by the window. She's brought her book, but she does not read it. She keeps gazing out, distracted by the drops that fall high from the sky before hitting the pavement; distracted by the people who walk by on foot, oblivious to the eyes that follow them until they are gone.

Anna is off on another trip with Hans.

It is Seattle this time; a last-minute thing, she'd said—her face downcast, her eyes avoiding contact with Elsa's for the rest of their call. A sign of guilt that Elsa had understood. They had planned to have a long video call, after all. To order take-out separately and eat it together. Anna would buy a sandwich from John's Deli that she would eat at home, and Elsa would get her hands on some Pad Thai that she would eat in the common room. A virtual date, Anna had called it while Elsa had gone along with it, giddy out of her mind.

Hiding her disappointment had been hard; to pretend that it didn't hurt this much to picture Anna in Seattle with Hans rather than at home, celebrating their anniversary. But Elsa had smiled through her sorrow and reassured her time and again that it was okay. They could talk when she got back to New York and celebrate properly when she returned from London. If Elsa could smile her way through her own pain only so that Anna could feel a little less guilty about it, she would.

Yet, it doesn't make it any less hard. And Elsa is finally beginning to understand what people mean when they say they love so much it hurts. To feel a love so monumental, so boundless that it aches. As though one's heart is screaming to reach out to the person it belongs to. As if it couldn't be contained in such a small, human space.

She sighs, watching as a woman treads by, her umbrella high above her head, and Elsa instantly thinks of Mrs. Davies. She wonders if she's okay, wonders if she ever got to see the doctor like she'd recommended. She follows her away with her eyes until they catch a hooded person standing on the edge of the sidewalk, glancing to their left before crossing to the other side of the street.

The first thing that courses through Elsa's mind is: What a New Yorker thing to do, crossing the street without so much but a glance in one direction. It draws a smirk out of her; the image a projection of the city she calls home. The second thought that hits her is: How silly to leave the house without an umbrella.

The shape of the person is indiscernible in the rain. A black car drives by, then another one, breaking the view that for some reason Elsa can't keep her eyes away from. The person stops in the middle of the downpour, glances up at the building next to Elsa's dorm, and pulls out their phone—a questionable choice that is undeniably amusing. The action, however, drives them to pull back the hood of their jacket and the contour of their face makes Elsa gasp.

She stands up in an instant, takes a few steps away from her table. The person keeps walking in the opposite direction, towards the dorms, and Elsa catches a quick sight of their Chucks: green and worn-out.

Anna's favorite pair.

She leaves the tea house without a second thought, leaving her book behind. The cold, London air hits her all at once, the rain pouring down on her as she crosses the street as recklessly as the person she is following.

_Please let it be her. Please._

Her heart is beating hard against her chest, aching to reach out. She can barely breathe as she stands on the sidewalk looking at the person's back. Those Converse; those legs; that walk. She could recognize them anywhere.

"Anna!"

The person turns around, and Elsa feels as though her heart has finally made its way out.

It is her.

She will not recall the few seconds that pass between calling out Anna's name and falling into her arms, but the sensation of it, she always will. It feels like being home.

The rain falls mercilessly on them both while Elsa tightens her arms around the girl's shoulders and Anna does the same around her waist. She can hear her laugh; a joyful sound that fills her ears and her heart with happiness.

"I'm so sorry," Anna says as they continue to hug, "I felt horrible about lying to you but I just really wanted to surprise you and I didn't know what else to tell you cause I wasn't gonna be able to text you for _hours_ and I kept thinking—"

Elsa cuts her off with a kiss.

She tastes Anna's lips for the first time in months and feels like she could soar in that moment. She cups the redhead's cheeks in an attempt to draw her closer, dampening them in the process, pushing the hood that had already been threatening to fall back. They kiss over and over again, impervious to the downpour of the rain, lost in the sensation of their lips melding together as they try to make up for every day they have spent missing each other.

When they separate, Elsa realizes that tears have fallen down her cheeks. And when she gazes into Anna's eyes, she feels like she could cry all over again.

"Where is your umbrella?" She asks, tugging at her girlfriend's hand to guide her back across the street. She doesn't try to protect them from the rain anymore; it is far too late for that.

"I left it at the hotel," Anna responds with a laugh.

They find shelter by the entrance of the tea house but don't go in just yet. Elsa's body is shaking, both from the coldness of the rain and Anna's presence.

"I can't believe you came all the way to London," she breathes.

Anna grins at her. She is soaked from head to toe but then again, that has never been an inconvenience to her. "Well," she says, "I love you."

Elsa leans closer again before connecting their dampened foreheads together. Everything she has felt in the last few weeks is beginning to wash away the same way that water flows down the roads and back to the sea. Everything her heart has ached for is fading, substituted by something else—something much lighter.

She will never look at rain the same way again.

"I love you, too," she whispers, "So, so much."


	25. How do you spell biscuit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna say I'm glad I didn't promise any of you that this chapter was gonna be shorter than the last one lmao. I also want to apologize because it took me a month to update. It was... a struggle. Despite writing every day many things didn't feel right with both myself and this chapter and that is why I took so long. I just really really hope that this chapter delivers and that the wait is worth it in the end. Thank you to all who have left kudos and who have commented, and to those of you who drop me asks on Tumblr or message me on Discord. Your love and appreciation for this story lifts me up. 
> 
> Now as to this chapter... LONDON. That's all. There's a scene that uses music because it is a nightclub so I made a [Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzuPxOScj6799JsV8nP_IVFSpyBYTOVda) (BLESS U DANI) for you because I love you. But if that music is not your type feel free to use any kind you would enjoy listening to and that makes you wanna dance. If you read better without music then that's cool too. Whatever rocks your boat. And I'm gonna shut up now. 
> 
> Enjoy!

And just how on earth did Anna find herself on an airplane bound to London on the evening of November 19?

It all began a month before. Exactly one day after having gone off on Mr. Frank and his stink-ass Scotch breath, and right after her Sunday dinner with Kristoff. They'd been laying on the floor nursing a food coma when he'd brought up Elsa's name.

"Why haven't you gone?" He'd asked.

Anna had stared at him as though he had grown a second head on top of the one propped on his elbow. "Because I've been too busy with work."

"Since when are you so responsible? You used to skip work at the bookstore every other month."

"And that's exactly why I'm trying to be more responsible."

"I don't buy it," Kristoff had said before lying on his back and letting out a burp that Anna could have sworn she heard traveling all the way up from his stomach. "You get all droopy every time you talk about Elsa. I really thought you'd have made plans to go visit her by now."

She'd bitten her lip, unsure of what to say while Kristoff reached for his phone on the sofa.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for flights."

Anna had stared again without saying anything else. Going to London had been a concept that she'd entertained almost every night since Elsa's departure, but the possibility of it had felt so far from her reach that she would often go to sleep sighing heavily and hugging her pillow as hard as if it were the blonde herself. Something had kept her from booking a flight. Work, yes. But also her own incapability at doing something for herself. A sense of inadequacy that sprouted from the self-destructive reminder that she didn't deserve to go in the first place; that she didn't deserve this small sliver of happiness.

"What's wrong?" Kristoff had asked. "You don't wanna go?"

She'd quickly shaken her head. "No—God, I do. I just... What about work?"

"What _about_ work? Can't he live without you for a few days?"

"Kristoff, I'm his assistant _._ He needs me almost on a daily basis."

Brown eyes held hers for a few seconds, resolute and unamused. She knew what he was thinking—had known for quite some time even if she had never understood the reason behind it.

"I don't like him."

She'd rolled her eyes. "Well, it's not like I can do much about that, can I? He's my boss and the job really is good. I'm getting to meet people in this business and now it's easier to know what agents look for in a writer and... yeah... I'm _networking._ "

Kristoff's mouth had opened then closed, causing his jaw to set before he'd adverted his eyes. There had been something on his mind that day; something more serious than this conversation could have held. Anna had been too scared to hear it out loud even if perhaps, deep down, she knew too.

"Just tell me one thing," he'd said instead, "From one to ten, how much do you wanna go to London and see Elsa?"

"My desire to go doesn't fit in that scale."

"You're so melodramatic." He'd then put his phone away and welcomed Sven into his bulky arms. The dog's furry head kept covering his mouth as he continued to speak, "Talk to Hans, dude. If he's as nice as you say he is then maybe he'll give you the chance to go."

And so it had been settled—partly.

The next thing she'd had to do was approach Hans a few days later, as soon as she'd sensed he had moved past the whole party thing and gone back to his charming, amicable self. In reality, it had only taken him the weekend and nothing more than that. He'd arrived Monday morning chirpy as ever, asking her to come down with him to grab a coffee so that they could go over the plans for the week, not once mentioning the party again. Yet, she had not asked until Friday, after he'd inquired about her Thanksgiving plans and she had stumbled her way through saying that perhaps, maybe, she was sort of considering going to London for the occasion.

" _London_?"

She'd nodded mutely, like a bobblehead.

"How long are you planning on being gone?"

The question had caught her off guard. _For the rest of the time my girlfriend's there, preferably_ —"I'm not sure? For a... weekend, maybe?"

Hans had been unimpressed. He'd soon started chuckling before it turned into a full-blown laughter. "A weekend sounds outrageous, Anna. You spend a weekend at the Hamptons not in _London_."

She'd felt embarrassed and smiled awkwardly as she tried to go along with his humor.

"What's in London anyway?"

Anna could feel herself sinking back into her chair. "...Elsa."

There was a change of beat.

"Well, who am I to get in the way of true love, right?" He'd smirked and Anna, for the first time since working for him, had not been able to tell if he was mocking her or not.

_So is that a yes or a no?_ She'd wanted to ask because Hans had only sat there staring at a spot on the wall like he'd suddenly gone all catatonic on her, and the longer he took to respond the more Anna was convinced that he would say no.

"Do we have anything important scheduled for the days around Thanksgiving?"

They didn't. She'd known because she had checked before asking. Still, she'd made a show of checking her notes. "Nope," she'd said, her hopes rising; boiling up like water under a flame.

He'd grinned then—a slow and mischievous smile that could seem wicked in a room full of shadows. "I think that settles it then."

She'd felt like squealing. That had been too easy. "Does that mean..."

Hans had only chuckled as he stood up and stretched his torso, puffing up his chest and flexing his biceps in the process. Kristoff and Eugene did that too, she'd mused briefly while he reached for the gray coat that was draped over the back of his chair and threw it over the crook of his elbow. It looked like a gesture of finality. A settlement.

He'd walked towards the door, pausing by the chair Anna was still occupying, and rested his hand on her shoulder.

"Take the whole week," he'd suggested, and left.

It was a walk in the park after that—but not really.

Because the next and last major thing she'd had to do was ask her parents to postpone their trip to New York. Hopefully to next year because after everything that happened Anna still felt like she was taking an anxiety trip down the angsty road every time the thought of seeing her parents came up, no matter how much they may appear to have settled things between each other. She'd figured she could make something up. A fake impromptu trip with Hans or a really bad stomachache that would prevent her from leaving her bed at all. But lying had never come easily to Anna, and as it was, lying to Elsa in order to surprise her had started to give her heart palpitations.

She'd approached her father first to test the waters.

"Did you buy the tickets already?" Anna had asked the following day over the phone. She'd done the calling, which had surprised her father. It shouldn't have, she'd thought, not after all the time she'd spent doing it for them.

"Not yet," he'd said, "I'm waiting for your mother to give me the dates."

She had frowned at how business-like that sounded.

"Why?" He had then asked.

She'd stared at the wall, her eyes falling on the board filled with polaroid pictures and tiny, inspiring notes. She needed to buy another one. When she came back from London, she would.

"Do you think that maybe... you could come after Thanksgiving?"

The other end of the line had gone silent before she heard him sigh. He didn't sound annoyed. He sounded tired. "You made plans already, didn't you?"

Anna had bitten her lip, hard. "I want to visit Elsa in London."

"I didn't know she was in London."

She'd closed her eyes. "You hadn't asked..."

They'd fallen into a silence that took some effort getting out of. In the end, he'd only said he would talk to her mother but Anna had still expected a phone call directly from her. Which is exactly what happened two days later.

" _London_?"

Anna had to pull the phone away from her ear.

"Yes, mom. London." She'd felt like she was defying her mother's wishes again. It was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time—more terrifying than exhilarating.

"With what money? Do you know how irresponsible it is to go on a vacation when you've barely started a new job?"

"It's not _barely_ , and Hans is okay with it anyway." She'd started nibbling at her lower lip already, her voice wavering a little as she said the next few words, "And I'm using my savings. I wouldn't dare ask you for it, don't worry."

"You seem to forget that part of your savings comes from our allowance."

_Ah, there it is_ , she'd thought. Anna had said the wrong thing, of course. When it's not the tone, it is the words. Are mothers ever happy? Will their offspring ever say the right thing? Anna had thought that somebody needed to invent a stress ball specifically made for these conversations. One that blurted out reassurances every time you squeezed it and with the statement _You are much more than what your parents think of you_ , or something shorter than that because there is only so much space in a stress ball.

She'd felt like screaming—like something inside her chest was imploding, spreading through her body like wildfire, and consuming itself into a single flicker of resentment. "I don't need it anymore," she'd whispered. _What I need is a stress ball._

"I'm sorry?"

She'd gulped ( _nothing! I said nothing!),_ it felt like sandpaper. "I said I don't need it anymore..."

"Very well then," her mother had said, and how could that have made Anna flinch? "I have to go to a meeting now. Have fun and take care in London."

With that, the phone call ended.

Anna had known that if they'd had this conversation in person, she would have never been able to say anything past the word London. Her mother had always intimidated her more than her father, and in her inability to understand why she constantly found herself growing defensive. It was then, as she sat on the bed with her phone still held in her hand, that she'd understood that whatever mending they had done during her graduation had been nothing but superficial, and that distance had not strengthened their relationship but weakened it again.

The sentiment had brought along a bitterness that lasted a few days, until Rapunzel had shown up at her apartment unannounced in order to go through Anna's clothes so that she could help her pick her London outfits. Needless to say, it wasn't long before the brunette dragged her out on a shopping spree that ended with the purchase of two pairs of skin-tight jeans and a dress that hugged the curves of her body perfectly so.

Rapunzel had stared at her from outside the fitting room, surveying her body from top to bottom before opening her mouth and saying:

"You're gonna make Elsa gayer than she already is."

Anna had never purchased something so fast in her entire life.

* * *

"So that's how it happened..."

She sees Elsa's hand move across the table and welcomes it in her own. "Your mom," she says, shaking her head. "She didn't have to take it out on you like that."

Anna shrugs meekly. "It was bound to happen one way or the other."

"Still. It almost felt like it was done out of spite."

Her hand squeezes Elsa's at this. The physical sensation of touching her is far greater; far more real than any sorrow her heart may feel right now at her mother's reaction. What occurred between them is in the past. Tonight, she gets to be with Elsa again and that is the present she wishes to dwell on.

"Can we talk about that some other time?"

Elsa hesitates for a moment before breathing out a soft, "Okay." A faint smile spreads across her face afterwards. It lights up her eyes and Anna, getting lost in them, feels like she could fall in love all over again.

They've ended up having dinner at a small Mediterranean restaurant near the bank of the Thames after having gone up to Elsa's room to pack up some clothes for the week and having spent a little more time than was necessary at the hotel room.

Because as soon as the door had closed behind them Anna had pressed Elsa against it, still damp and cold from the rain. And how could she ever begin to explain that? The feeling of Elsa's tongue connecting with her own; the moans that reverberated in the silence of the room; the insatiable need she had been holding onto for months. None of those things had failed to send heat straight down to her center. And when her girlfriend had mumbled in between hungry, lustful kisses, "We should take a shower," Anna had been all too happy to comply.

She'd jumped right after her, making Elsa squeal and laugh in surprise.

"What?" She'd asked, "You said we needed to take a shower."

"I never said together," Elsa had said, her eyes revealing the opposite.

She'd smirked at that before clashing their mouths together and running her hands over the skin she might as well have had dreamed of almost every night with how much she fantasized about it. The sensation had been overwhelming; as encompassing as the hot water that poured down on them. To feel like she was rediscovering Elsa's body, relearning the whimpers that escaped her lips, memorizing all over again the way her fingers felt inside of her... Could anyone blame her for acting like a horny teenager?

They'd finished in the shower only to continue in bed, until Elsa was left in a blissful state of exhaustion at the hands of Anna's tireless lust. They lay naked with limbs intertwined and that, right there, had felt like the worthy culmination of everything she'd had to do to get here. Because Anna had finally recognized peace in the softness of her voice, in the faint freckles on her nose and the familiar glint of her eyes. She recognized it in the way Elsa laughed at the comments she uttered under her breath; in the way she gently nibbled at Anna's lip every time they kissed; in the way Elsa's hand went up to push her ruffled bangs away from her forehead.

Because if a person could feel like home, Elsa would always be exactly that.

Back at the Mediterranean restaurant, Anna continues to eat her tabbouleh salad.

"So what's the itinerary for this week?"

The blonde arches an eyebrow. "I just found out about your visit a few hours ago and you think I have an itinerary already?"

She tsks through a mouthful. "Whatever happened to the Elsa I knew?"

The girl in question leans across the table, her expression dead serious and her lips set in a thin line. Cold, blue eyes stare into Anna's, allowing her the time to take that back. But Anna doesn't. She's too busy munching on her salad.

So Elsa speaks with a voice that doesn't waver: "She was too busy screaming out your name to make an itinerary."

Anna chokes on something—a quinoa seed, a cucumber, a goddamn pea, she doesn't know—but her cheeks turn beet red while her girlfriend looks on with a mixture of concern and amusent and slides a cup of water that Anna accepts with a glare. The nerve this woman has to call her out like that in public.

She chugs the water, and when she's positive she's not going to die with a quinoa seed stuck in her airway ( _That could go on the dumbest ways to die TV show I used to watch),_ she covers her face. She can feel her cheeks grow warm against the skin of her palms before Elsa's hand reaches out to graze the back of Anna's right, fingers tickling her wrist before wrapping themselves around it. She gently pries it away from her face until Anna removes her other hand and looks at the blonde from below her lashes. She can't bring herself to do the glare this time.

"What's with the shyness?" Elsa asks softly.

She bites her lip. The embarrassment is beginning to dissipate but her throat is still raspy when she says, "I'm just... feeling all kinds of things right now."

"What kinds of things?"

Anna looks at the girl sitting on the other side of the table and suddenly the distance feels both unbearable and utterly surreal.

How many times had she closed her eyes only to imagine that Elsa was sitting right there with her?

"I just feel like my emotions are all over the place," she says, but when Elsa begins to frown she feels the need to elaborate. "They're _good_ emotions. All good, I promise. But they're kind of overwhelming... Like I can't contain them all at the same time."

A smile soon appears on Elsa's face. Still, she doesn't respond right away. She lifts up the hand she is still holding and brings it up to her lips, kissing each knuckle with a devotion that nearly brings tears to Anna's eyes. There has to be a dichotomy somewhere, she thinks, between the intimacy they're sharing and this place that smells like Falafel and keeps blasting Greek pop music from its speakers. But then again, intimacy isn't about the place, is it? It's never been... Anna could be standing with Elsa in the busiest corners of Mumbai or Tokyo or New York City, and she would still be able to feel this tenderness between them.

"I know what you mean," Elsa finally tells her.

"You do?"

"Of course I do," she chuckles against the skin of her hand, covering it with warm air in the process. "You have no idea how much I missed you, Anna... It's making me feel all kinds of things too."

The last of her tabbouleh is forgotten—she doesn't think she can put another mouthful of that deadly salad in her mouth. All she can focus on is _this._ This sensation; these good and inexplicable things that have no need for words because they are right here, revealed by their actions, only for the two of them to see.

"Are you done with your salad?" Elsa asks.

"It almost killed me, so yes."

A giggle. "Come with me then."

They exit the restaurant hand in hand and exchange very few words for as long as they continue to walk on the main street that leads to Lambeth Bridge. It gives Anna the time to take certain things in, like the still unbelievable fact that she's in London right now and not New York.

She looks around her while she lets Elsa be their guide. She notices the buildings, most of them with brown brick facades and none of them tall enough that she has to crane her neck all the way back. She sees the street signs: white rectangles with black and red letters fixed on the walls rather than displayed on tall metal posts. _Horseferry Road,_ one of them reads. She looks to her left and sees a red double-decker drive by before she's hit with an elation that almost causes her to start jumping up and down. She watches the strangers that pass them by—a tall gentleman carrying a briefcase in one hand and swinging a closed umbrella with the other; two middle-aged women with their heads bent close to each other, gushing about something that sounds important; a younger girl walking her dog, lost in her phone. Strangers: all the same when placed in the background of a city; all unique when looked at from up close.

Anna likes London, she decides. The little she has seen at least. But when they reach a park that is nearly devoid of people and Elsa leads her farther in to where the river meets its bank, Anna thinks she could fall in love with it.

They walk all the way to the concrete parapet that stands between the Thames and the park. The city lights glimmer on the surface of the river and in the distance, Anna can see the London Eye lit up in bright red. The branches of the trees sprout up and above them as if they were trying to reach out to the water, making them look like black tendrils against the moonlit sky. The air... It is a little colder here. Sobering.

She is distracted by this view until she feels Elsa tug gently at her hand. When she turns to face her, the blonde is already smiling.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

She nods. "I don't think you ever told me about this place in your postcards. Or during our phone calls for that matter."

"I only discovered this a few days ago," Elsa explains, "I wished you were with me almost as soon as I found it."

Anna sighs, understanding the feeling before leaning closer and letting her arms instinctively wrap themselves around Elsa's waist. It should be silly, she thinks, if not downright ridiculous to miss someone this way when only a few months have passed. But Anna can't help it and she has a feeling that neither can Elsa. Not with the way she is hugging her with as much longing as the one Anna had been carrying in her own heart this whole time.

"Distance's been so hard," Elsa whispers as they continue to embrace. "I'd been feeling so out of touch with myself... I don't know how else to explain it. But having you with me right now just makes me feel like things make sense again."

She steps back a little in order to take a better look. Elsa's freckles are lost to the night, but the flicker behind her blue eyes has remained intact. Anna doesn't say anything yet. She can tell there's something else struggling to come out of her girlfriend's mouth.

And finally: "Do you think it's normal?"

"What do you mean?"

The blonde's arms go down to her sides in order to wrap themselves around her own torso. "I don't know how to say it..."

"Just try, it's okay."

She looks away as if trying to transform her thoughts into words. A few seconds pass before she looks back. "You've been feeling something similar haven't you?"

Anna frowns, confused by the way she's responded with another question rather than answering the previous one. She thinks for a moment that Elsa is trying to deviate from talking about herself, but something in the way she's asked this keeps her from entertaining the notion for too long.

Besides, how many times in the past few weeks has she wished to talk about what's been eating away at her own mind?

"I feel... lost," she whispers after a while, "Like I can't focus on anything for more than a few minutes. I keep looking for inspiration everywhere I go and that helps me sometimes, but of course it still isn't enough."

"Have you been writing?"

She gives a rueful smile, closes her eyes, and welcomes the hand that tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You know the answer to that," she says.

Elsa pulls her closer again, draping an arm over her shoulders and placing a lingering kiss on her forehead. Anna can hear the long exhale that escapes through her nose.

"I've been asking myself if this is all because we're apart," Elsa then murmurs, "And that's what makes me wonder if it's normal. Or maybe normal isn't the right word but... I don't know. I'm scared it will affect us in the end."

"Why would it affect us?"

Another pause; another well of silence. She listens to the tree branches being rustled by the wind and the sounds of the city melding into a single static noise as she takes a step back with the intention of fully facing Elsa. There is sadness behind the girl's eyes, and for the first time since she's arrived in London she wishes that circumstances were a little bit different. A little less heavy from words left unsaid.

"Because," Elsa says, "I want you to be happy, Anna. Even when we're apart."

"But you're only going to be in London for a little while longer."

"It's not just about London, baby."

Anna frowns and looks away. The surface of the river glimmers with a thousand lights.

"I'm still not sure what you're trying to say," she mutters. A memory is being shoved to the forefront of her mind. She is recalling that night in Los Angeles, thinking back to Hans's unwarranted advice and his reminder not to be swallowed by the comfort of love.

Is that the same thing Elsa is telling her right now?

"Anna," she breathes, reaching for her hand. "What I'm trying to say here is that I love you so much sometimes I feel like my heart could leap out of my chest just by thinking of you. That I feel like crying sometimes when I look at you because I still can't believe my luck, and that being far from you makes me feel like a part of me is constantly missing to the point that I can't function properly. But that scares me... It _terrifies_ me because I don't want that to take over yourown life. And I don't want to be the person that could ever get in the way of making your dreams come true."

Elsa stops only long enough to take a breath. The weight in her words has not gone unnoticed and neither have the emotions swarming in the depth of her eyes. Anna is searching for something to say; anything that will ease her troubling mind. But before she can find it, Elsa continues in a voice so soft it threatens to break.

"I don't want to ever be the reason you stop doing what you love."

The statement pulls at her heart in a hundred different directions. "But you're not," she rushes out, "If anything you've been doing the opposite. You make me happy, Elsa. And you make me feel loved... When could that ever be a bad thing for me?"

There is more to it, Anna knows this. There are more reasons behind her current inner struggle that are hiding from her as though shadows in the darkness. And how can she ever explain something that she can't even recognize herself?

Elsa nods weakly, accepting the embrace that Anna initiates with a need for solace that is almost palpable. "You made me promise," she says into the tresses of her hair. "Remember?"

"Promise what?"

"The day of your graduation you asked me to promise you that if you weren't happy..."

She pulls back from the embrace.

"Elsa, I swear to God if you break up with me the day before our anniversary I will throw you in this river and never look back."

The blonde bites her lip, and Anna can tell it is because she's trying to suppress a smile.

"Besides," she continues, "I never said I was unhappy. Did you not hear a thing I just said?"

A giggle espaces her. It would be a delightful thing under different circumstances. _Who are you kidding? It is delightful even now._

"I was just reminding you."

"I don't need a reminder about that ever again, thank you."

Elsa kisses her cheek before mumbling, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You don't have to be sorry about threatening to break up with me."

Finally, a laugh. Soft and airy; exactly like the one Anna never gets tired of hearing. "I would never threaten you like that." She then grabs Anna's hand and guides her back towards the main street. The mild hustle of this Friday night feels like a bubble burst and this time Anna welcomes it gladly.

"I'm sorry for being such a downer," the blonde says after a few minutes.

"A party pooper is more like it."

Elsa's hip playfully bumps into hers.

"How about we just enjoy London this week? " She suggests as they begin to head towards Westminster Station.

"I'll say you've never had a smarter idea."

"I've had many smart ideas. I'm not sure what you're talking about."

It is possible that none of what they've discussed will make sense tomorrow. They could blame it on the sensation of being carried away by the heavy emotions that have come with seeing each other again. Or perhaps, even, on nothing at all. On impossible circumstances and unwarranted fears that oftentimes are as capricious as the moment that brought them. But whatever the reason might be tomorrow, Anna chooses to settle it with one last thing:

"It's not just my happiness, you know?"

Elsa turns to look at her with an expression that goes from confusion to realization. She then gives her a smile that conveys a love too big to put into words, and lifts up the hand she is holding in order to give it a kiss.

"I know, baby," she says afterwards. "I know."

* * *

The next morning welcomes Anna with what feels like a proper punch in the face, and if it weren't because Elsa has woken her up with the tenderness of a thousand tiny kisses, she probably would have cried as well.

"Who said jet lag couldn't kill you, huh?"

"You're hardly dead, Anna."

"I _feel_ dead."

A warm hand trails up the skin of her back in one painstakingly slow motion, though it is soothing enough that her eyes close with the threat of not opening up again in a few more hours. She can feel Elsa's body lean closer to her, and smiles. Cuddles should be imminent at this point.

Alas...

"Nothing that a nice and steamy cup of black tea can't fix," Elsa whispers in her ear.

Her eyes fly open. "That's blasphemous, Elsa."

"It wouldn't hurt you to try it."

Anna rearranges herself so that she can face her girlfriend. The white duvet is halfway to the floor and the crispy clean blanket—clean as in what you don't know can't hurt you because this is a hotel after all—is disarranged between their legs. She has no real desire to argue about tea and coffee. Not right now. All she wants is to feel Elsa's nakedness pressed against hers and see if that can coerce the girl into sleeping for a few more hours—amongst other activities.

She buries her nose into the small space where Elsa's shoulder meets her neck and shamelessly breathes in her scent.

"Happy anniversary, baby," she mumbles against her skin.

Elsa hugs her tighter. "Happy anniversary, you caffeine addict."

Anna laughs out loud, but regrets nothing.

It takes them more than an hour to get up and another hour to get ready. They keep stealing kisses from each other, getting distracted with playful hands, and falling back on the bed time and again until Anna calls for a truce because Elsa is relentless with her tickle attacks. She'll do anything, she says. She'll even try black tea.

Elsa suggests trying out Turkish breakfast which, albeit a strange and random choice, Anna accepts eagerly. If there is something she has learned throughout the year is that her girlfriend is always on point when it comes to choosing food and restaurants. It's like a secret talent. A premonitory gift that is both useless and incredibly awesome.

At the restaurant, they are sat in a table that is soon covered with small plates ranging from sweet, fruity jams and spreads made out of molasses and tahini, to tangy slices of feta cheese and freshly baked bread. Anna also goes as far as ordering eggs à la _menemen_ ; a spice-infused meal scrambled with bell peppers, tomatoes and green onions that leave her almost drooling on the table and forgetting about coffee for a while.

"Not that I'm complaining," she says through a mouthful, "But why did you bring us here and not some place where they serve biscuits and stuff?"

Elsa wipes the corners of her mouth with a tablecloth and takes a sip of water before responding. "I've been wanting to take you here since I first saw it on my way to the institute."

Anna is satisfied with the answer. Now that she is mildly awake, she is beginning to think of everything they have planned for the day, so much so that she is practically buzzing with energy even though she still hasn't had her daily cup of—

"What's this?"

A small, tulip-shaped glass on a white porcelain saucer has been carefully placed next to Anna's plate by a server who speaks very little English but makes up for it with lots of smiles. He nods at her and says, " _Chai_ " before leaving.

Anna stares at the liquid contained in the glass and then at Elsa who is sporting a sly smile even as she looks down at the piece of bread she's currently covering with chocolate spread.

"You tricked me," she says, narrowing her eyes.

"Did not," Elsa responds.

"Did _yes_."

"Black tea has caffeine too, you know?"

"I do know," she grumbles.

"Just try it then," Elsa says, bringing the bread up to her mouth.

Anna sends another glare her way before she drops a sugar cube in the tea and dissolves it with a spoon. This whole scheme just so that she can skip her morning routine does not sit well with her. Today is their anniversary. It is supposed to be a celebration of trust and love and respect and— _Oh... Okay. This is good._ The liquid sits warmly in her mouth as she processes it all in nothing more than a few seconds. It is sweet and probably the best tea she's ever had, but Elsa doesn't need to know any of this.

"I'll finish this," she says with a poker face. "But I also need to try their coffee. You know, for research purposes."

Needless to say, her face gives away her real emotions because it isn't long before Elsa starts teasing her about enjoying the tea a little bit too much. When all is said and drunk, Anna orders two Turkish coffees—Elsa isn't the least bit enthusiastic, mind you—. The waiter comes back holding a small tray that he sets down rather ceremoniously (the first warning). He then places in front of each girl an empty demitasse cup with a Turkish delight by its side—"I'm scared," mumbles Elsa—, and sets out to pour dark, unfiltered coffee from a tiny pot-looking thing the likes of which Anna has never seen in her entire life (the second warning). He smiles the whole time as he works on clearing their table, oblivious to Elsa's troubled expression and Anna's childish excitement. It isn't until he has left that the redhead speaks.

"So they're tinier than I expected."

"That's not a good sign."

Anna brings the cup up to her nose and sniffs the strong scent of caffeine. "Hello, my dear. We meet again."

"Hello? Your girlfriend's sitting right here."

She smiles sheepishly. "Can we do a toast?"

Slightly reluctant, Elsa raises her cup to the level of Anna's. 

"Elsa," she begins, "I'm pretty sure you think I'm an addict by now but you must know that if there ever is a time where I must choose between coffee and you—or better yet, between chocolate and you, I will always choose you. I wouldn't trade this year for anything in the world and with that being said, I want to toast to all the years I want to keep spending next to you."

"That is very romantic."

She shrugs. "I try."

The blonde gives her an endearing smile. "It goes without saying that I love you," she says, "Even if I do think you may have a coffee problem. I love you more than what any heart metaphor could convey and beyond any words we could find in a dictionary, and I just hope that I keep having the opportunity to make you as happy as you make me for many years to come."

Anna grins, proud of their impromptu little speeches. She then clinks their cups together, conjures a British accent that will continue to pop up throughout the week—" _Cheers_ , _mate_!"—and takes the first sip of her coffee.

"Holy shit—"

"Oh God—"

"This is strong as shit—"

" _Anna!_ "

But Anna is not listening. She is reaching for her water, taking a large swig, and then reaching for her cup again. She takes a smaller, more careful sip and hoots like she's just gotten hit with the best high of her life. Meanwhile Elsa is ever the more cautious and reserved. She washes down the first taste with water and tries again. She looks so sophisticated drinking from that tiny cup (like she's having tea with the Queen) that Anna doesn't know how she does it, but soon enough it is gone and so is the Turkish delight that tastes like powder sugar and pistachio gummy. 

"This is the first time I've had coffee since I got here," Elsa states.

Anna stares at her; unsettled, excited and guilty all at the same time.

_This is gonna hit good_ , she thinks.

And it does.

To say that she has never seen Elsa this hyper would have to be an understatement because somewhere between the nearest underground station and their stop at Green Park, Elsa starts to behave like six-year-old Anna inside a bouncy castle, high on cotton candy, and with her parents begging her to come out because it is time to leave and wouldn't Anna like to come home and take a nap?

They exit the station with Elsa skipping steps and Anna wheezing right behind her.

"I feel like going for a run. Would you like to run with me?"

"Absolutely not."

She takes her by the hand towards the entrance of the park, laughing as she goes because Elsa really has gone as far as giving her the puppy eyes.

They are on their way to the Buckingham Palace; Anna's first choice on her to-do list (written on a napkin that she took from the airplane's stewardess because she packed her journal inside her checked-in bag, and what kind of writer does that anyway?). She is excited to say the least, and she would certainly run if it weren't because Elsa would probably outdo her like an Olympic athlete high on steroids and not caffeine.

Besides, Anna wants to take her sweet time getting there. She wants to relish this exhilarating momentum of exploring a new city and everything that comes with it. She wants to stroll in this gloomy weather, across entire lawns covered by orange and yellow leaves; to observe the tourists and the natives; to make up stories in her mind, and forget about everything and everyone for a while so that it can be just her and her sweet, hyperactive girlfriend.

"Did you know the Buckingham Palace was completed in seventeen oh five?"

"Nope," she says, letting Elsa swing their hands back and forth between them.

"Did you know their doors are open to the public only during summer?"

"That's kinda lame."

"Yep. Did you also know they have a private cinema? And a clinic? And a pool?"

She stares at her. How on earth do you know that?She wants to ask, but Elsa is already blurting out another question. "And did you know there's a way you can tell if the Queen is there?"

Anna grins. "Do tell."

Elsa's eyes widen. It is as though she was waiting for this very moment her entire life. As if every piece of knowledge she's ever had culminated right here, right now.

"Okay," she says, "So the Union Flag—you know, the national flag we can all recognize—if they have that flying over the top of the Palace that means the Queen isn't home. _But_ , if they have the Royal Standard, which is an odd combination of lions and a harp on red and blue and yellow backgrounds that somehow represent England, Scotland and Ireland. And I'm not sure why Wales isn't in it, I'll have to check and get back to you on that because there _has_ to be a reason and... Where was I?"

Anna bites her lip. Out of concern, she reaches inside her bag, pulls out a bottle of water and hands it to her. "You were getting to the part about knowing when the Queen is home."

"Right," Elsa nods before taking a gulp of water and handing back the bottle that is now nearly empty. "So the Queen is home if the Royal Standard is flying over the Palace."

They pass a group of tourists hovering their heads over a single map. The sight reminds Anna of a flock of pigeons trying to pick at the last bread crumb.

"Let's make a bet then."

"Deal."

"I haven't even told you what the bet is."

"Doesn't matter. I'm feeling edgy today."

_We'll see how long that lasts,_ Anna thinks and laughs. "Okay. I'm betting on the Queen being home. If she is, you owe me a lap dance. But if she's not then I owe you a box of your favorite biscuits."

"Why do I get biscuits and you get a lap dance?"

"Because whoever makes the bet makes the rules." And because the chances of the Queen being home seem much lower than her being out and about. Anna knows what she's doing—even when she doesn't act like it.

Which is often.

"But I want a lap dance too!" Elsa exclaims.

An elderly man looks up from the map he's surveying, alarmed and clearly disturbed. Anna doesn't know how to react other than by flashing him a smile that is more apologetic than humorous and pulling Elsa away from prying ears.

"Give me a good reason why I should give you a lap dance," she says, curious to hear the answer.

Elsa looks offended. "Why should I need a reason for wanting a lap dance from my girlfriend? Why do _you_ want a lap dance."

"Because it's our anniversary."

The canopies of the trees are beginning to thin out, giving way once more to the gray London sky. They are approaching the Palace. Anna can tell by the way clusters of people are loitering around as though waiting for the same thing—for the Queen to appear.

Which she won't.

The first thing her eyes look for at the sight of the Buckingham Palace is the flag and she bites her lip when she finally sees it: the Queen isn't home.

"You owe me a lap dance," Elsa announces.

"Correction, I owe you a box of biscuits."

There is a smirk and an overly seductive gaze—this girl really did have too much caffeine. "We'll see about that," she purrs.

They sit on the stairs that lead to the monument dedicated to Queen Victoria: a gilded sculpture of an angel built on top of a marble pylon. Below it, the Queen sits almighty and fully enthroned, surrounded by various statues signifying different virtues, and if that's not the way to go then Anna doesn't know what is. Next to her sits Elsa, her knees bouncing up and down with so much suppressed and uncharacteristic energy that Anna is beginning to wonder when it will wear off—if at all. She lifts her hand up to check the girl's pulse out of curiosity and is met with a pair of wide, bewildered eyes.

"Your pulse" she explains, but in response Elsa takes her hand, gives it a kiss and holds on to it. Anna stares at their joint hands, unsure of how to proceed.

"Do you ever think Buckingham is a bit too square?" Her girlfriend asks.

"Uh... no? I had not thought of that before."

"If I were the Queen I would make it more spiky, you know, with spikes? And I'd build a large empty foyer with some fountain in the middle of it and a large spiral staircase that leads to a single room—ours—and it will be this huge bedroom with maybe a bed and a chandelier and a huge balcony I can use to look out at the lands of our kingdom." 

"That is highly unpractical and oddly specific," Anna points out. "Where would the restrooms be?"

"Downstairs and to the left."

She chuckles and pats the hand she is still holding in her own. "With this much knowledge you should become an architect instead."

Elsa stares off. She falls dead silent before opening up her mouth again. "I have one semester left of med school. Then I have three years of internal medicine and three or so years in cardiology fellowship. Maybe I couldsqueeze in an architectural degree in there somewhere. I can look into it when I get back, I've heard Columbia has really good programs."

Disconcerted, Anna squeezes her hand, drawing the blonde's attention back to her. "No, sweetheart," she whispers, "Just... No."

They stay for a while longer with Elsa doing all the talking and Anna doing all the listening. It is amusing, and even welcomed, to witness her going on and on about the Queen and the Palace and the people they get to observe. Strangers from all over the world stop by for a picture, never failing to stick around in order to observe a royal landmark that would appear uninhabited if it weren't because of its guards with their red uniforms and their funky looking hats. Anna takes out her polaroid camera and snaps a few pictures. They're all going to her new board, she decides, and she's gonna title it The London Board.

It isn't until the caffeine begins to wear off—and Anna senses this by the amount of times Elsa places her head on her shoulder and the amount of minutes that go by without her saying something—that they decide to move on to the next destination.

They stop by the souvenir shop because Anna wants to see if their finest tea really is that fine but also because she loves souvenir shops. There is something rather charming about eating off a plate that has a picture of the royal family and a fridge magnet of the Queen whose tiny, pigeon eyes will judge you every time you reach for the milk in order to pour it into your coffee.

What she finds instead, amongst other royal-looking things that are too dangerous to be held by her hands, are shelves upon shelves of chinaware. Was it expected? Not really. But is it surprising? Not at all.

Anna reaches for a teapot (the least expensive one) with utmost care and shows it off in front of Elsa. "Would you like a cuppa tea, dahling?"

The blonde covers her mouth to hide a laugh. "Anna, stop—"

"Don't be daft, sweetheart," she exclaims, making a show of serving the tea. "I know you like it when I talk posh."

She makes another pouring gesture but in the process of doing so she catches the glaring eye of an employee. It immediately wipes out her smile as she puts the teapot back where she found it.

"Aren't you going to join me for afternoon tea?" Elsa asks, oblivious.

She shrugs while she casually places Elsa between the lady's suspicious eyes and herself. "No it's okay, you know how I feel about— _OH MY GOD THERE'S A CROWN."_

Everything is forgotten: the chinaware, the British accent, the girlfriend, the lady employee who reminds her of Miss Pattinson and the inquisitive eyes she threw her way every time she entered the library at school (and really, what's up with that? She only used up the printer's ink once) _._ Everything is shoved to the back of her mind as she lifts up the transparent box containing a crown made up of gold, plastic arches and smooth, cheap-looking velvet.

She holds it up ceremoniously, her eyes beaming with awe. She can sense Elsa's presence with the way familiar warmth radiates and encompasses her back. Slender arms wrap around her waist and she welcomes the sensation for a few seconds before turning around in them. She is grinning; still holding the crown. Elsa's eyes examine it before gazing up at her.

"You want it, don't you?"

Of course she does, and of course Elsa gets it for her.

The crown is much tinier than the real deal but it is still large enough that they can take turns balancing it on their heads. Elsa, with her infinite poise and straight back, is able to walk with it for an indefinite amount of time. Anna can do sort of the same thing—if she focuses hard enough. She wonders as they go from the souvenir shop to the Westminster Abbey if there is some sort of British etiquette that goes against their actions, but all they get are disdainful looks and that is a win in her book.

Next stop: The Abbey.

It looks like the Notre-Dame but skinnier. Or so Anna thinks as she cranes her neck to stare at its facade, her crown in one hand and Elsa's hand in the other. Inside, it is a cathedral but prettier. It is monumental and majestic, with the intricately carved designs of its arches and the lavish structure of its chapels. Her ears fill up with nothing but the sound of hushed voices and muffled footsteps as she lets Elsa take her by the hand; their fingers intertwined very loosely together.

They wander slowly through the nave, walking past the choir before approaching the High Altar. At the sight of it, Anna's mouth goes agape.

"Let's get married here," she blurts out.

"What?"

"What?" She widens her eyes, whips her head around, and exclaims, "Oh look at those chairs!"

Elsa looks at her suspiciously and mildly coy for the rest of their visit, and Anna could swear she catches her blush more than once.

They soon become hungry and in search of a place serving fish and chips. A rare delicacy. Anna knows this because she chose it herself. The place they find is small and unassuming, with very few tables inside and a single red poster hanging from the wall that says _Keep Calm & Eat Fish & Chips._

As they begin to eat, Elsa's phone vibrates against the table. Anna knows she is not one to check her phone when she is eating, but with the screen facing up and showcasing the incoming message, she can tell curiosity gets the best of her.

"Sasha wants to meet you," she says.

"Where and when?"

The blonde types on her phone for a while before placing it on the table again and going back to her baked fish. It doesn't take long for a new message to come, and when she reads it, her eyes widen for a split second.

"At a club tonight," she mumbles.

Anna gasps. Her hand goes up in a fist pump, the French fry she's about to eat nearly flying out of her grasp. She is excited. Tired, jet-lagged and sore for some reason. But excited.

And why?

Because she knows exactly what she's going to wear.

* * *

The nightclub sits at the heart of Piccadilly. A small line has formed outside while loud music resounds against its walls and leaks out onto the street in a heavy, muffled beat. There are dozens of pedestrians treading back and forth on the street. Some are tourists; some are people finding their way home. Most are strangers looking to have a good time.

Elsa and Anna are standing by the entrance of the club, right below the blue and purple neon lights that comprise the sign hanging high on the brick wall of the building. They are waiting for Sasha; Anna is pulling at the hem of her dress; Elsa is staring at her.

"What?" She asks with a bashful smile.

"I'm just looking at you."

"Why?"

Anna tucks her hair behind her ear. She feels shy, not because of the intensity behind Elsa's gaze but because this dress feels very short all of the sudden. She doesn't remember it being this revealing when she first tried it on. But then again, she didn't have a fall breeze going up her ass in the dressing room.

However, Rapunzel had been right. Elsa has not stopped looking at her since she stepped out of the bathroom wearing a black, spaghetti-strapped dress that hugged every curve of her body and ended mid-thigh. _Do you feel gayer?_ She keeps wanting to ask.

Elsa makes a move to reach for her hand that Anna meets halfway before closing her eyes and welcoming the kiss that she leaves on her lips. She can feel her warm, minty breath when she responds.

"Because you're gorgeous."

Somewhere behind her, there is a squeal too low-pitched to belong to a woman. A few seconds later, she watches Sasha join them with unparalleled enthusiasm. The first few things that go through her mind are that Sasha is tall— _very_ tall; taller than Kristoff tall—, that he is very handsome, and that he is beaming. His smile doesn't leave him from the moment he greets Elsa to the moment he pulls her in for a hug that vanishes any sense of unfamiliarity. "I'm so happy to finally meet you," he says, and Anna doesn't have a hard time believing it.

As they join the short line to get in, Sasha gushes over their outfits. He makes Elsa twirl and the girl does so with a blush, timidly showcasing the deep blue dress they'd ended up buying last minute because she had not a single piece of clothing with her that could be deemed appropriate for a nightclub.

He does the same with Anna, snapping his fingers and exclaiming, " _Yas_ , queen," as she goes.

"Are you drunk?" Elsa asks.

"I'm offended that you feel the need to ask that."

They move through the line until they reach the bouncer, have their IDs checked and are let inside. Once there, Sasha leans down to whisper something in her ear: "I may've had a drink while I was getting ready."

After coats are checked in, the girls follow him up a flight of stairs. It is dark except for a pair of blue neon lights that travel from the bottom all the way up to the landing. If she touches the wall next to her, she can feel the beat of the music booming against its surface almost the same way she can feel it against her own body. Exhilaration rushes through her veins, driving her to squeeze Elsa's hand in anticipation. She doesn't recall the last time she was in an actual nightclub ( _because you got really drunk and you don't remember anything other than Kristoff calling a cab for the both of you_ ) but she is looking forward to sharing this experience with her girlfriend.

The club is crowded; the dance floor is bursting with people. It is dark—except that it isn't. Because in the vacuum of this darkened room, lights of all colors fly around as though they were intended to be caught by the hands that keep reaching up to the rhythm of the music. Yet, it isn't until they make a beeline for the bar that Anna begins to feel Elsa's tension emanate from her in waves of subdued tension.

Leaning closer, she says: "We can always leave if you want."

Elsa gives her a reassuring smile and shakes her head. "I'm okay," she mouths.

When they reach the bar Sasha turns to them before eyeing Elsa rather closely. "Okay," he says, "Let's get some alcohol in your system cause this is mad overwhelming."

Anna watches him with curiosity as he towers over most people and leans across the bar in order to gather the bartender's attention. Her eyes then fall on Elsa as she takes everything in with slight unease, so well-hidden that it would be easy to miss if someone didn't know what to look for. The fact that Sasha has seen this, has acknowledged this, and has now set out to find a way to help her loosen up fills Anna with a deep sense of gratitude that is hard to explain.

He soon hands them each a drink—two vodka cranberries and one gin and tonic for himself. They don't cheer; they go right at it. Anna tastes the alcohol right below the fruitiness of the cranberry juice. It is strong enough that she grimaces the first time.

"I'm so excited you're here," Sasha tells her above the sound of the music. "This whole time I've felt like I've known you already."

"Why?"

He drapes an arm over Elsa's shoulders in order to pull her closer. The blonde is smiling behind her glass, and Anna doesn't miss the way she doesn't try to pull back from it. "Because she won't stop talking about you."

"Is that so?"

"I may or may not talk a lot about you."

"She may or may not _ever_ stop talking about you is what she meant. This whole time she's been like Anna is a writer. Anna would like this chocolate. I miss Anna. Anna sent me a picture—Anna, Anna, _Anna_ ," he laughs.

Elsa covers her face, making both of them laugh harder.

"Don't get me wrong, it's adorable," Sasha exclaims, "I want a love like yours when I grow up."

"You're my age," Elsa retorts loud enough to be heard, and squeals when Anna reaches out to pull her against her body.

She kisses her without so much as a warning, drawing a hollering sound out of Sasha that goes unnoticed because she is too busy deepening a kiss that only breaks when she runs out of air. Her hands have traveled up to hold onto Elsa's slim waist and, in retrospect, she will realize that they barely went without touching it for the rest of the night.

They blaze through the first round before venturing out onto the dance floor. Sasha, being the tallest, pushes through the crowd while showing off some moves and holding up a gin and tonic that tilts dangerously every time he sways his hips. Elsa is walking closely behind Anna, which she doesn't mind, especially not when she keeps nuzzling her neck after every other step. At some point Sasha stops and she realizes they're practically in the middle of the dance floor. All around them people are dancing, their loose bodies cast in shadows one second and lit up in a dozen colors the other. Some look like they know what they're doing; some others don't. But what is the point of dancing if not for reaching a sense of liberation? Add alcohol to the equation and you will have a crowd full of people who don't care what they look like.

The upbeat is loud and heavy—sensual. It reverberates inside of her like echoes inside a cave while the bass line guides the movement of her hips. She is trying not to spill the glass of cranberry vodka she is holding in her left hand but the action is hard when she is also trying to hook her arms around Elsa's shoulders. It is all she can focus on: the sensation of Elsa's body writhing against her own. The dress she's bought shows off her neck and her cleavage, and Anna has to fight everything in her not to bury her face in there. She takes a drink every time her mind goes there—it makes the second one go rather fast.

When Elsa finishes her own many songs later Sasha leaves and comes back with another round. The definitive one; the one that signifies tilting over the fine line between sober and buzzed.

Anna feels like letting loose tonight, but something tells her Elsa is still holding back.

It drives her to take the girl's hand and turn her body around until Elsa's back is facing her front. Her arms immediately wrap themselves around her waist, pulling her closer. "Dance with me," Anna whispers in her ear, "Just let go, baby."

Their gazes connect for a brief moment; blue eyes flickering beneath the blinking lights of the club. It is arousing, the way in which Elsa closes her eyes after a while, throws her head back and begins to move her hips with increasing sensuality. Lost in the moment, Anna runs her free hand up and down her waist and spreads it over her abdomen so that she can press herself harder against Elsa. Her lips fall on a bare shoulder, nibble at the skin and soothe it afterwards. She feels intoxicated and it is not just because of the alcohol.

There is something inherently sexual about the way they're dancing with each other, something that no longer recognizes restraint. The beat of Anna's heart is increasing without her knowing; it is mixing with the thunderous beat of the music. She could spend the rest of her night doing this, she muses, with nothing more than the thought of Elsa filling her senses.

Somewhere next to them Sasha is dancing with girls and guys alike. He cannot be stopped. He is a showman and this is his moment.

The song soon ends, fades out, and introduces pop onto the dance floor. It is a mood changer and Anna welcomes it by grabbing Elsa's hand and twirling her around.

Aware of her girlfriend's aversion to crowded places, she tries her best to take her mind off it. Alcohol has done its job, all she has to do now is keep it up—which really isn't hard at all. She moves her shoulders and her hips to the rhythm of the song, raising their joint hands, and grinning when Elsa moves along with her. They are playful with each other, showing off dance moves that become looser, bolder and sillier. She rarely sees Elsa let go like this and to Anna, there is no greater sight.

She feels like closing her eyes and so she does, threading her fingers through her own hair, allowing herself this moment. A hand reaches for her waist and she smiles without opening her eyes. The action fuels the sensuous movement of her hips, and the way the hand squeezes at her waist lets her know that Elsa is enjoying it as much as she is. The attention she is giving her, Anna doesn't want it from anyone else.

Sasha finds them again at some point, daring Anna to a dance battle she is bound to lose. He is too fabulous, he is one drink ahead, and he can _vogue_ ; a fact that stands solely as the biggest opposite to the serious cardiologist Elsa claims he is.

From the myriad of people around them, two guys show up with smug, tipsy smiles before she catches Elsa's body miss a beat.

"Oh honey no!" She hears Sasha exclaim. He sashays to where they stand, grabs the men's hands and says, "You're gonna have to dance with me because these two are taken."

Man 1 and Man 2 let go of him with bemusement and distaste before walking away—on to their next victim.

"Where's your drink?" Elsa asks him. There is a hint of buzz in her voice.

"I don't know," he laughs, completely unaffected. "I think somebody stole it. I need another one."

"I need to pee first," Anna announces.

She chugs the rest of her—third? second?—drink, hands the empty glass to a random dude who was about to start writhing against her back, and pulls Elsa in for a languid kiss before strutting away on high heels. She was smart enough to carry a pair of flats inside her purse; these shoes are killers both in the metaphoric and literal sense. She also realizes halfway to the bathroom that she doesn't know where the bathroom is. The only way she knows she's found it is after she sees a short line made up of girls in various states of inebriation. She joins in right behind a group of girls that is throwing Spanish words at each other in a rapid-fire exchange. Anna is tipsy enough to be openly fascinated by this, and she stares until one of them catches her.

The girl, shorter than her by a few inches, stares back. Her dark, brown eyes are glassy and her accent is slurred out when she says, "I love your dress."

Anna blushes. "Thank you. I like your hair."

Another staredown. Spanish-speaking Girl draws closer, deeply fascinated. "And I love your make up. How do you do that to your cheeks?"

"Son pecas, estúpida," another one exclaims.

Anna has no idea what she's said but she'll take it. "They're freckles," she explains with a giddy laugh.

"Sorry," a third girl says, "She's stupid and drunk."

"What's your name?"

"Anna."

Girl _número_ _uno_ goes to extend her hand but forgets about it midway and hugs her instead. "Tocaya," she gushes.

She has no idea what is happening; has no idea what _tocaya_ means, nor why a random girl is hanging from her shoulders. But she accepts this because somehow she has been welcomed into the clan with a single word and now she has four new friends.

Anna will not remember this in the morning, but what Elsa says happens next is that she returns with a horde of drunk Mexican girls trailing after her.

The moment she sees her girlfriend again she throws herself into her arms because _holy hell_ she is hot. This dress she has on is tight in all the right places and Anna can think of a hundred and one things she could do if only she could take it off. Pop gives way to something else: a latin rhythm that makes her new friends rejoice as though they were waiting for this the whole night and one that Anna recognizes because she's heard it coming out of the bodega when Marta is working her shift. "Scandalous," Elsa had once called it.

Sasha leaves when she is back, and returns much later with more drinks and a guy.

"Who's paying for all these drinks?" Anna asks before taking a sip. It doesn't taste like vodka anymore. That should worry her but she has no time for it.

"My sugar daddy," Sasha says, mimicking a hair flip.

She turns to Elsa who shakes her head. The real answer remains unknown.

Their bodies soon draw close to each other again, like magnets. The girls she's brought with her from the bathroom are going absolutely wild, so much so that they are shouting the lyrics and nearly grinding against one another. The songs keep shifting, and when the bass drops so do they. Anna's mouth goes agape at what she sees—the girls are nearly squatting, and how on earth do they keep dancing in those heels?

She turns to Elsa to make sure they're looking at the same thing and finds her holding her drink halfway to her lips and sporting a rather disturbed expression on her face. It makes her burst out laughing.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

Blue eyes find hers. "Nothing."

"Are you flustered, Elsa?"

" _No,_ " she says, "It's just very... blunt."

Anna grins as she takes the hand that isn't holding a drink. " _Scandalous._ "

Elsa glares at her and she responds by taking a step closer. The dance may be blunt, but she would be lying if she said it didn't make her feel like doing something... scandalous to this girl. She takes a large gulp of her drink—the last one of the night—, places the half-empty glass on the nearest surface she can find (she hopes nobody in this VIP table minds), and watches Elsa do the same. It draws a mischievous smile out of her.

Something is taking over, and it feels very much like lust.

She snakes her arms around Elsa's waist before pulling her in once more, impossibly closer. As the song continues to play Anna's hands make their way down her spine, edging dangerously close to the curve where her lower back meets her ass. Below the beating sound of the music, a shuddering breath escapes the blonde, and Anna responds by leaving an open-mouthed kiss on her pulse. Her actions are escalating this time, mindless of the people around them, driven by the way Elsa holds onto the back of her neck in a way she recognizes too well.

Anna's mouth ghosts over the skin of her shoulder before it travels up her neck and hovers over her lips. They keep on dancing like this for some time, their breaths mixing together; their lips never quite touching. It ignites an insurmountable amount of pleasure in Anna that suddenly makes her feel as though she could go insane.

"Come with me," she mutters, already pulling Elsa away from the dance floor.

It all happens in a blurry sequence that will be hard for her to recall in order. There is no one waiting in line outside the bathroom (or so she says because Elsa is adamant that there was but what does it matter anyway?), so she stalks in with determination before heading for the stall farther away from the door, pulling her girlfriend in by the hand, and closing the door afterwards.

Seconds later, she has Elsa pressed against the wall. The moment has caught up to their actions. It leads to a silence in which they are both spellbound while glassy, blue eyes focus on her; inviting and seductive.

"This is very unsanitary," Elsa mumbles.

"Shush."

"And people are waiting to pee."

Anna responds by taking her wrists, lifting them up and pinning them against the wall above her head. "Then I'll be quick," she breathes before finally closing the gap between their lips.

She wastes no time. Her tongue meets Elsa's in one deep and languid kiss that shoots heat straight to her center while her right hand begins to travel from the blonde's neck to her chest. She squeezes her breast with shameless desire, swallowing the moan that escapes her mouth. There is no deliberation in her movements; not a single premeditated action. It is all driven by her need to touch. A need that cannot wait any longer.

Anna drags her hand farther down and chooses to take her time cupping Elsa's ass while simultaneously pressing herself harder against her. The girl moans again, this time louder, and somewhere in the back of her mind Anna thinks that she should stop. But Elsa is watching her with half-lidded eyes and before any decision can be made she grabs her hand and guides it down her body. In a single action, Elsa has ceded control. And when she spreads her legs a little wider, she gives in completely.

It is swift, yet tortuously slow the way Anna's fingertips travel up the tender skin of Elsa's inner thigh, riding up her dress in the process. She continues to kiss her with fervor; continues to nibble at her lower lip and caressing it afterwards with her tongue. They don't have much time before someone starts banging on the door, and it is with this in mind that her hand reaches Elsa's lace underwear. The fabric is damp already, and Anna moves past it without a second thought. Her own breathing begins to increase in tempo as she runs the tips of her fingers up and down Elsa's folds, briefly teasing her clit. A moment later she will reach her entrance, nibble one last time at her lower lip, and slowly push two fingers inside.

Elsa covers her mouth at the sudden intrusion but despite the booming sound of the music coming from the dance floor, Anna can still hear her moan. She smirks, feeling herself grow wet as she watches the blonde throw her head back and close her eyes.

This view is the one she will remember with utmost clarity tomorrow morning. She will laugh because Elsa will remain embarrassed for many days to come and Anna will say, time and again, that waiting was never an option.

* * *

It is a starless night.

Meanwhile, a gentle fog blankets over London, diminishing the bright city lights and shaping them into a soft, tremulous reflection cast on the dark waters of the Thames.

Anna can see the Big Ben approaching as they make their way towards Westminster Bridge and spends the next few seconds observing it in solemn silence. She remembers feeling something similar the first time she saw the Empire State from up close. A sense of reverence, like a quiet astonishment. Breathtaking, is what she can think of before she closes her eyes for a second, willing her mind to hold on to this memory forever.

Years later, when she is less buzzed and much more mature, she will realize that it was never about the place, but the person.

She swings her black heels back and forth in her hand, smug and rather sleepy, whistling the same tune every so often, daydreaming of everything she has yet to live with the girl walking by her side. Next to her, Elsa goes on watching her with a rosy tint on her cheeks and an enamored smile on her lips.

This late at night, it feels as if they were suspended in time. A car slowly drives by and a few minutes later, so does another. Farther ahead, she sees another couple walking hand in hand, crossing from the other side of the river. And from the city, no greater sound emanates other than the soft flowing of the Thames and Anna's own little tune.

A moment later, Elsa's mellow voice will fill the air.

"I wanted to write you a letter," she says. She's been acting coy—and much more sober—since they came out of the bathroom stall, but she's got that post-orgasmic glow going on and she cannot deny it no matter how much she tries to swat Anna's poking fingers away.

"You did?"

"I thought we weren't going to have our anniversary virtual dinner. But I still wanted to do something to commemorate it somehow... I still wish I had."

Anna slows down once they're past the parliamentary building and the Big Ben, pulling Elsa along towards the parapet of the bridge. She leans back on it and smiles when Elsa steps closer.

"Now I'm curious."

Elsa chuckles. "Of course you are."

Gently, she grabs her hands before intertwining their fingers together.

If there is something Anna has always loved it is words. Their power to express what goes through a person's mind and heart is one that can never be taken away from them. It is an inherent quality; their biggest purpose. For years, she has played with them. She has used them as the foundation of entire stories that she's hoped can move a person's life because she wishes, more than anything, that someone will one day read her words and know that through them she is gifting a piece of her soul. She also knows—has learned for years—the importance they can have in mending a broken heart and she knows their value, too, because she has spent far too long recognizing that their absence can hurt just as much as the most hurtful of words.

Which is why, with Elsa, she will never cease to crave them.

"Tell me more," she says.

"Well..." Elsa begins, briefly focusing on a point past her face. "I wanted to write about everything you've made me feel since I've known you. Because for me it was... strange, you know? Back then, I didn't even think that I would ever be able to experience love like this. But then you came into my life and it's as if you've been teaching me all along."

Her voice suddenly softens, mirroring the tenderness behind the eyes that now search for Anna's. "I could probably spend hours and I could use up every word I can think of to describe this happiness I feel when I'm around you. You make me feel loved and special even on the days when I feel like I don't deserve it because I know I can isolate myself pretty badly and that drives you crazy." At this, she chuckles and Elsa smiles. "But you have to know that everything you give me, I strive to give you just as much if not more. Because you deserve the world, Anna, and the entire universe if I could only find a way to turn it into a pocket-size thing."

"You deserve the entire universe too," Anna mumbles. Her eyes are burning with unshed, happy tears. She could sob right now if she wanted to, quite frankly.

"Can I say something very cheesy?"

"You know I love cheesy."

Elsa raises a hand to brush her bangs to the side. She is taking her time for some reason, letting the seconds go by while everything around them keeps on existing as it once was and as it will continue to exist long after they are gone. But this moment as it stands before time is theirs; this Big Ben; this London Eye in the foggy background; this Thames river. This whole city belongs to them tonight because that is how Anna will see it in her memories for the rest of her life.

Because in the end, it isn't the place that takes her breath away, but Elsa's soft and everlasting words.

"Sometimes I feel like it's with me already," she finally says, "Because sometimes I feel like my universe is you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Son pecas, estúpida" - They're freckles, stupid.  
> "Tocaya/o" - it's used to refer to someone who has the same name as you.
> 
> Any Mexican readers in here?????? HOLLER MADAFACKAS!!!!


	26. Homebound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot to say here... just my eternal Thank you to all of you who keep sending your love my way. It means more than any of you can imagine. Also, I want to give a very special shout out to Grace. Your art has brought to life this story in ways that only you've been able to convey and I swear I will cherish you forever. I'm so happy to be able to call you a friend now... In case anyone is wondering what I'm talking about you can go check out her [Tumblr](https://gracepago0314.tumblr.com/)  
> Also #2, there are two songs that resonated with me throughout this chapter: Wonderwall by Oasis and London Thunder by Foals (in that order). Check them out if you're interested :)
> 
> Anyway I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think! Stay safe!!!

"Okay okay okay my turn... I spy with my little eye something... red."

"Is it a double-decker again?"

"...No."

"It _is_ a double-decker, isn't it?"

"Okay fine. I spy with my little eye something fuchsia."

" _Fuchsia_?"

She nods frantically. "Or pink, I guess. I understand not all of us are well educated when it comes to color palettes."

Elsa glares at the girl hunched up with her chin hidden by the soft fabric of her blue scarf before taking a look around.

"Is it those lady's sneakers?"

Anna throws her head back with a groan. "How did you know?"

"I don't see anything more obnoxiously pink than those shoes around here," she says, lowly enough that the woman in question doesn't hear her despite being almost on the other side of the street. "And by the way that's not fuchsia. It's _magenta._ "

Her girlfriend whips her head around and with the hand that isn't holding a cup of hot chocolate she pushes Elsa's beanie down to cover her eyes.

"Rude," Anna mumbles, but Elsa doesn't need to see in order to tell there is a smile playing on her lips.

They are sitting on the stairs of Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain, right in the middle of a peaceful Piccadilly. It is early, and a Monday. The crowd that would otherwise fill this place up to an overwhelming capacity—in Elsa's already low standards—has yet to make an appearance. Of course, by crowd she means tourists, and by appearance she means the incoming flow of people from all over the globe with the intention of scratching another landmark off their list. All of them with cameras in hand; all of them with a map sticking out of the back pocket of their pants that may or may not get lost at some point because who puts anything in there without kissing it goodbye?

Nobody. That's the answer.

"It's your turn."

"Okay," she drawls, looking around as she continues to savor her own hot chocolate. "I spy with my little eye something green."

"Is it that truck?"

"Nope."

"Dammit."

Technically speaking, Elsa should be on her way to the institute right now, but she is not. She'd decided to skip that same morning. Early enough that she could still get ready and be perfectly on time, and early enough for Anna to still be fast asleep with an arm thrown over Elsa's torso and her mouth threatening to drool on the pillow. She had texted Sasha a response to his last message ( _Just say the word. I got everything under control_ ) which really just made her feel like she was giving him the permission to do something illegal. And it might as well have been with how she felt after asking him if he would be okay with handling things alone.

An odd feeling that one—to be breaking the rules. Awfully exhilarating and madly rebellious. Elsa has never skipped on her duties unless it's been absolutely necessary, but how could it not be necessary when Anna has traveled all the way from New York to see her? When she is sprawled in bed with her baby snores and her mane of a hair, and Elsa can't feel anything less than an insurmountable amount of affection along with the desire to spend at least one more day like this.

"Is it that thing on the trashcan?"

"Nowhere near close."

"I swear to God—"

Anna groans some more, crosses her arms and pouts. She scans the space before them and so does Elsa while she tries to suppress the laugh that's threatening to burst out. She may have cheated a little. She may have spotted a green ice cream stand behind them when she mindlessly looked back a few moments ago, but she plays along because Anna seems determined to find the one green thing that Elsa sees.

Strangers—mostly commuters from the sober, uninterested looks of it—pass them by and Elsa watches her girlfriend begin to follow them with her gaze. Somewhere near the fountain, a musician has set up with an acoustic guitar in his arms and its open case by his feet. He begins to play soon afterwards; the first few chords slowly weaving through the air as mellow as morning itself. Anna is quietly taking things in and if Elsa were to take a guess, she would accurately predict that the girl has been distracted by their surroundings and forgotten about the green.

"I like this place," Anna says offhandedly, her fingers fidgeting with the cardboard sleeve of her cup. "It reminds me of Times Square but the buildings are more historical and prettier, and you don't have people chasing after you in Elmo costumes or some random dude offering you coke in the middle of the afternoon."

Elsa stares at her. "You've been offered coke in Times Square? What kind of corners do you hang out on?"

She shrugs and takes the last few sips of hot cocoa. "He did it in front of the Disney shop, mind you."

Nearly another hour goes by. The man continues to play song after song, thanking the empty space through which many strangers pass and few spare him a glance. Some toss a few coins; one or two drop bills inside his guitar case. None of them stop to listen. Above them, gray clouds disperse and thin out, never quite revealing the blue morning sky.

Later on, Anna spots the green ice cream stand (she'd given up on that one) when she goes to throw away their empty cups and comes back to give Elsa a death stare.

"I didn't know you had eyes on the back of your neck," she deadpans.

They soon stand up to leave, but it isn't until Elsa has dropped a fiver in the musician's case and given him a smile which he responds to with a noble nod that they make their slow way out of Piccadilly.

She spends the rest of the morning trying to make it up to her even if she knows Anna isn't angry. Not quite at least. Not with the way she's pouting in an attempt to hide her smile and looking away when both can tell she's on the verge of laughing. But Elsa tries anyway because she has the excuse—not that she needs it—to shower her with love while Anna welcomes it even if she doesn't want to admit it. She tilts her head when she knows Elsa is about to drop a kiss on her cheek and conceals a sigh every time the blonde lifts their intertwined hands up to her lips. Because while it is true that Elsa has never been the type to be overtly affectionate in public, it is also true that she is still not over the fact that Anna is right here with her, in person, currently running like a madwoman towards the Chinatown Gate.

They (Anna) convince someone to take a picture of them standing below the gate, and it isn't until Elsa takes a look at the photo that she sees the expression of pure delight in Anna's face.

"I thought you were mad," she teases lightly.

"You know I don't have that kind of patience."

Elsa takes her hand and pulls her in for a smothering hug. "And here I thought it was because of my undying love for you."

"That may have helped," Anna mumbles against her chest, "But only a little."

"I'll settle for a little since you can't admit you were never mad in the first place."

Anna pulls away from the embrace with narrowed eyes. "Don't test me," she states before pecking Elsa's lips and pulling her by the hand. "Come on I wanna see if there are shady stores like the ones in Canal Street. Maybe we can buy a Gucci purse for ten pounds."

A while is spent browsing the shelves of exotic spices even though they don't buy any. They stop by a cake shop to try out fluffy pineapple buns and a fish-shaped waffle filled with custard that Anna may or may not have had a hard time eating because it was too cute to kill (bite). The shady stores are nowhere to be found. They would know because Anna specifically asked about them.

The colorful streets of Chinatown soon wane and give way to West End's theater district—or the Brit Broadway, according to Anna. They walk with no real destination in mind, passing by the National Gallery and stopping by Trafalgar Square to take a break. Nowhere along the way does Elsa really stop to think about the consequences of missing work today and she's not sure if that's good or bad. She is too distracted by the way Anna is leading the tour even though she has no clue as to where they're going (she lost the map she had tucked inside the back pocket of her jeans) and has chosen not to check her phone like most civilized people would. But Elsa doesn't really mind. She sort of knows her way around after living in London for a few months and besides, what's the worst thing that could happen?

"I'm pretty sure this isn't south, Anna."

"Yes it is. My pinky says it is."

"That's... okay."

She gives up. If they get lost they can just do what everyone else does when they get lost. And they probably will because Elsa is close to a hundred percent sure you can't tell which way you're going by the direction of the wind alone. Or some might. But that is not Elsa. Or Anna for that matter.

Not too long afterwards, when the redhead has cracked up enough to admit that she has no idea what she's doing, Elsa pulls out her phone to check directions. She decides to take Anna to her favorite coffee shop: A quaint spot, hidden in a basement setting.

Lusciously green plants hang from the windows above while the shop's front is framed by bushes of roses whose aroma can be smelled from the moment one goes down the stairs to the moment one reaches the front door. Inside, Anna's mouth goes agape. "Okay this place is much bigger than I expected," she mumbles as she scans the space. All around tables are scattered, many of which are occupied by people submerged in the bright screens of their computers. To the left sits the barista station and to the right sits a black upright piano that Elsa has never seen be used. There is also a bookshelf standing on the farthest corner where people trade books. It is this which Anna goes to check after they've placed their orders. 

Meanwhile Elsa finds a table nearby, takes a seat and turns around in her chair to watch her do so. There is a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips that she doesn't feel the need to suppress. Anna is engrossed in the books, her fingers trailing down spine after spine, lingering on a few that catch her eye. The sight pulls Elsa back to the time their relationship was barely starting to blossom. Back to the days Anna used to work at the bookstore, and to the first time Elsa paid a visit because she could not get the girl out of her head. She chuckles lightly at that—how bold she'd felt carrying a box of chocolate cake and showing up unannounced. Surely she has done braver and bolder things than that? Surely, she thinks, her life hasn't been ruled by second thoughts.

"I wish I had a book to trade," Anna says when she approaches the table.

Elsa smiles at her and in a second she is brought back to the night they met. She had been brave that night. Brave enough to start a conversation; to not think twice about approaching the girl who'd caught her eye and never left her heart.

And look where that got her?

"We have the rest of the week to come back," she says.

Anna beams. "That is a jolly good plan."

They eat without rush and linger for a while afterwards, and Elsa thinks, not for the first time, that hours slip out of her hands whenever she is with Anna. It becomes a second thought, like a notion that falls to the back of her mind and doesn't return to the forefront until she takes a look at the time again. It has always been like this, since the very first night they met. Elsa could spend hours by her side and still feel like it's not enough.

After leaving the coffee shop they make their slow way south—this time with the actual help of a phone's map. They head to the London Eye with a few stops in between because Anna likes to check out the souvenir shops and Elsa likes to take pictures of her any chance she gets. They find a red telephone box along the way and spend more time inside than is necessary—"This is so _cool,_ " Anna gushes, "Why can't we have nice phone booths like these in New York?"— _,_ and crossing the Westminster Bridge also takes them a while because... Well, there is no real excuse. They were just slow.

They make it in time for the last ride of the day and it isn't until they get in line that Anna pulls out her phone. She is distracted briefly, albeit immediately, and while Elsa chooses not to glance at the screen, there is a keen intuition already telling her who's on the other side of that conversation.

"Sorry," Anna says, putting her phone down but not away just yet. "Hans. He's asking about some papers."

Elsa nods mutely, forces a smile and looks away. What had Rapunzel called him once?

Another text comes and Anna goes to check it. The chuckle draws Elsa's attention but her mouth is suddenly too dry for her to ask anything. 

"He's just asking about London," Anna tells her, as if she's read the question in her eyes. "He's suggesting the London Eye but I told him we called dibs on it already."

"Right," Elsa says. _A smile. Give her a smile._

When the line starts to move and they near the capsule they're about to get on, Anna finally puts her phone away.

Clingy, Elsa thinks just as they begin to board. Clingy was the word her cousin had used.

She forces the thought out of her mind, putting it away the same way Anna has done with her phone; no intention of pulling it back out any time soon.

They shorten the distance between themselves and the farthest side of the capsule, with Anna mumbling something about spaceships and how they were probably about to enter a fourth dimension before having their memories obliterated for safety purposes. "All of this for fifteen pounds, who would have thought?"

Elsa is pretty sure the kid who's joined his parents on this trip is about to question his entire existence because he's looking at Anna like she's just enlightened him by accident.

She reaches the edge first and beckons Anna over with an extended hand. She's genuinely smiling at this point. It's inevitable; Anna doesn't even have to try.

"I'd been thinking about riding this thing since you told me you were coming to London," Anna says lowly. 

"Does that mean you were secretly planning to come all along?"

"No," she giggles, "You know I don't work that way. I _wanted_ to come all along."

They're standing closely together, surrounded by at least fifteen more people in the large capsule-like space. It is not a setting that screams intimacy but somehow, with the way Anna is leaning into Elsa's side and has her arm loosely wrapped around her hips, they might as well be the only ones there.

The ascending is slow. So slow, in fact, that it never fully stops for people to step in and out of the ride. Yet, neither of them is impatient to get to the top.

"Do you ever see yourself living here?" Anna suddenly asks. "Or anywhere else that isn't New York?"

Elsa considers this for a few seconds before slowly shaking her head. "New York feels very fitting at the moment."

"Why?"

The wheel is turning slowly but Elsa is already beginning to have a clear view of the skyline. Down below, the muddy Thames moves in ripples caused by the wind. Next to her, Anna is watching her with inquiring eyes.

"You would think that someone like me would want to live isolated from the world," she says nonchalantly.

"Not really."

Elsa smiles although she doesn't know why. At the first full sight of the Big Ben she raises her hand and points at it so that Anna can see it. "The city is stuffy and overwhelming sometimes," she tells her, "And on a good day I still feel like screaming because of the sheer amount of people that can fit inside the train. But somehow I'm still comfortable living there."

"So you wouldn't like to live in a cottage somewhere with a beautiful garden, five dogs and me?"

She laughs. "I'd live in a cave if it were with you."

Anna smiles before resting her chin on Elsa's shoulder and falling silent as the wheel continues its steady rotation. Amidst clouds, the sky is slowly changing its hues. As they begin to reach the top of the wheel, softened blues begin to fade into bright oranges that kiss the landscape of London's skyline. Sunset is upon them, and they're both welcoming it in each other's arms.

Until Anna breaks the spell.

"Is that..." She narrows her eyes, leaning in so close that Elsa thinks she's going to bump her nose into the glass. "Yes, it's the cucumber."

Elsa has to strain her eyes but even then it has to be pointed out to her: The Gherkin. Her girlfriend is pointing at The Gherkin.

"That doesn't look like a cucumber, Anna."

"Well it looks more like a vibrator but I can't exactly say that out loud, can I?"

She grins. "You just did."

Anna stares at her before she bursts into a fit of giggles that soon becomes unrestricted laughter. It is contagious, and it is hard to keep a straight face at the sight of her doubling over with a hand on her stomach. Her abs, she keeps saying, they _hurt_. But Elsa can't help her because every time they make eye contact she giggles, Anna snorts, and it begins all over again.

Several moments later, Elsa recovers enough to see that the sun is close to meeting the horizon and she pulls Anna's attention away from wiping the tears off her eyes. 

A few people draw closer to them in order to snap a picture, driving Elsa to place herself behind the shorter girl. She hugs her tightly and smiles when Anna reciprocates by squeezing her forearms with affection. The Enlightened Kid stands somewhere next to them, and Elsa catches his curious eyes for a second. She wonders for how long the notion of two people loving each other like this will be a foreign concept to him. If it is, at all. 

"You know what makes me really happy?" She says after a while; when the sun has kissed the horizon and the kid has moved on to newer, more curious things than two women in love. 

"What?" 

Her lips brush against the shell of Anna's ear before she says: "Being in love with my best friend."

Anna ducks away with a giggle when the blonde's breath hits her neck. "You're my best friend too," she says, "Just don't tell Kristoff cause he'll get butthurt."

* * *

"So did you guys get to explore a lot?"

"Yes."

"Did you go to the London Eye already?"

"We did."

"Did you get to see the sunset? Was it romantic? I need _details,_ Elsa."

She chuckles. "I'm trying to _focus,_ Sasha."

Elsa wasn't able to miss a third day. Not because she didn't want to, or even because she was incapable of mustering the rebellious courage required to skip her daily duties and pretend like she still had a really bad stomachache, but because Anna had insisted that she should not go against her own nature. She'd be fine exploring London by herself, she'd said, which led to Elsa being stuck here, scanning sheets of data and interview results that she could not focus on because she kept thinking about Anna and her shenanigans, and because Sasha kept refusing to cooperate.

"Did you go over the cholesterol levels from last week's interviews?"

A hum. "We should hang out again," Sasha then muses, "Some people are gonna go to a bar Friday night. You wanna come?"

From the corner of her eye she can see him spinning around on a black stool that's a little too small for him. He looks too comical on it; too large with his bony legs sticking out.

"What is it with you people hanging out at pubs only?"

"It's not exactly the best weather for a picnic. Where else are we gonna go?"

"I don't know? A museum?"

Sasha snorts, finally drawing Elsa's attention away from the papers. He's trying really hard not to smile. "Okay, honey. Next time we'll do a field trip to the museum."

Elsa throws the pen's cap at him. "Focus."

"Fine." He places his feet down on the floor and walks the stool to where Elsa is sitting at the desk. _Child,_ she thinks, _a six-foot tall child is what I'm dealing with._

"For what it's worth," he continues, "I promise we won't hang out exclusively at bars when we go back to New York."

She turns to him, bemused.

"What? Did you think you'd be getting rid of me once we're back? That this was just a London fling?"

"No," she responds, holding a smile back. She knows she shouldn't be this giddy to know that the friendship they have formed in London can and will be carried back to New York. She is almost twenty-five years old for God's sake, many people her age have heaps of friends at a phone's reach. "If I agree to tell Anna about the bar will you focus on this?"

In his smile is the answer.

After five more hours of cardiovascular structures and critical analysis Elsa feels like she could sprint out of the room and rush down the stairs to reach the entrance by which Anna has been waiting for exactly thirteen minutes. 

Before reaching the main doors with Sasha by her side, Elsa catches sight of her girlfriend standing outside and facing away. She is in the middle of a phone conversation, and from the moment Elsa sees her to the moment they're close enough for Anna to notice them, she feels the bitter weight of apprehension pressing down on her chest. It is brief, almost capricious. It washes over her nearly as fast as she urges it to go away.

She watches her friend squeeze Anna's shoulder and wave at the two of them goodbye. He mouths the word bar as he goes, and Elsa feels like rolling her eyes.

Facing Anna again, she stands by quietly. She can tell the girl is trying to end the conversation—can see the apology in the smile she gives her and can sense it even in the way she reaches for her hand and squeezes. A beat passes and Elsa has to take a deep breath. She feels stupid for having felt this way— _stupid and insecure_. She knows who the person on the other side of the line is, but it really shouldn't matter in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Anna says after hanging up, her arms instinctively wrapping themselves around Elsa's neck. "Hans was just going over a few things with me."

"It's okay," she breathes, and means it. Deep down she knows she means it.

Anna pulls back: "Everything okay?"

"Yes, baby," she says. It comes out faster than it probably should have but she's choosing not to give herself enough time for second thoughts. 

"Are you sure?"

Elsa smiles; her own attempt at relaxing. _There is nothing wrong with a phone call._

"Yes, I'm sure," she insists, "What were you up to today?"

Anna drops her arms from where they'd been resting on Elsa's shoulders before she reaches for her hand and guides her away from the doors. "I went to the coffee shop again because I wanted to trade a book," she starts, "But then I realized that the one I brought is from the public library so I can't exactly leave it here. Then I went for a long walk and ended up at King's Cross which really is just a railway station—oh and I bought a postcard for Theo. We can write something on it and send it to her."

There is an idea that really makes her smile. "I'm sure she'll love that."

Elsa forces herself to come back to the present, away from unreasonable thoughts and impulsive emotions. She has no reason to feel this way about something as trivial as Anna's boss checking in with her on a weekday. It is irrational; downright ridiculous, and she knows that she must get a grip before doing or saying something that could hurt Anna. So she focus instead on the sound of her girlfriend's voice, on how she didn't lose the map this time, and how she'd considered taking a train to Paris but didn't because Elsa wasn't with her. And as Anna goes on and on about her day and Elsa becomes both their eyes (because Anna can't talk animatedly and walk without the risk of tripping on something), she begins to think that as long as it doesn't bother Anna, it should not be bothering her.

It becomes her mantra.

They spend the next few days as though untouched and unmoved by the outside world. They scratch every landmark off Anna's napkin-list. They eat some of Elsa's favorite biscuits (with tea): the custard cream ones and the Jaffa Cakes. They spend a rainy afternoon in Hyde Park, sharing an umbrella as they stroll amongst the oranges and browns of fall's foliage. They send pictures to everyone, and spend Thanksgiving night at the hotel with a feast set up on the room's floor and British rom-coms playing in the background. Through it all, Hans becomes an afterthought but every time Elsa sees his name pop up on the screen of Anna's phone he is pushed to the forefront.

Is it normal to feel an inkling of dislike towards someone you've never met? Towards someone you've never even conversed with? Elsa goes through these questions time and again, and the answer is always the same.

Friday evening comes along with heavy, darkened clouds. The girls make it to the bar earlier than Anna would have arrived had she been by herself and later than Elsa is accustomed to. It is the Gin Club again tonight, which Elsa has nothing against except that the gin they served her here was disturbingly strong. The vintage signs plastered on its walls are a familiar sight. Its ambiance, even its music; she can recognize it all because she was here nearly three weeks ago.

From where they stand by the door, Elsa spots a few of her colleagues by the corner of the bar. They are deeply involved in a conversation. However, she doesn't take a single step forward.

Sensing her hesitation, Anna pulls her to the side. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure how to do this," she mumbles, "I'm not very close to any of them and I'm scared I'm going to make things awkward if we just show up right now."

The redhead glances back and for a moment Elsa is hit with the childish desire to duck behind her. "We don't have to go say hi if you don't want to," Anna says.

"But I'd like them to meet you."

A smile, small and full of love. "I'll help you then. We can say hi, then order some drinks and wait for Sasha."

Below the bustling sounds of the pub, Elsa greets her colleagues before introducing them to her girlfriend. They are all polite—friendly even, and Anna has no problem speaking above the noise and greeting them all back while Elsa watches her do so with a small sense of pride filling her up from the inside.

Elsa's eyes never leave her as she attempts to strike up a conversation but upon entering a group of pre-established friendships one often feels like an outsider, and neither Anna nor Elsa are able to settle in for too long. Unfortunately, it doesn't come as a surprise. None of them has shown much interest in getting to know her. According to Sasha she has been pinned as the shiest of the group and ever since finding this out it has hung over her head whenever she's around them. It's a tag they've attached to her back; one that is a little too late to remove.

This is what she tells Anna after they've stepped away with the easy excuse of ordering drinks. She does it quietly and with a hint of self-consciousness, because compared to her Elsa feels like she holds no candle. But Anna sees none of that—she never has—and she lets this be known by dropping a kiss on her cheek.

"It's their loss, baby," she whispers, and Elsa tries her best to believe it.

A girl with a purple pixie haircut and a smirk that could pass as flirtatious comes to take their orders. Elsa gets the same thing as last time while Anna goes for something called Plum and Apple Daisy, which earns her a curious look: "What? I like apple."

The taste of alcohol traveling down her throat is as sharp as she remembers it but, not wanting a repetition of last time, she begins with slow sips. Unwilling to return to the group for a second round of awkward pauses they stay by the bar, perched on high stools and elbows almost touching.

"I really don't wanna leave tomorrow," Anna says all of the sudden.

"You can stay here and we can go back together," Elsa suggests, "I can hide you under my bed."

She giggles behind her balloon glass, green apple slices floating and swirling in the pinkish liquid of the cocktail. "I'm not sure your roommate would appreciate that."

Elsa shrugs. "We can come to an arrangement—"

She's distracted by Anna's phone vibrating on the bar counter, its screen lighting up to display a name she is dreadfully familiar with by now. She watches the redhead check the incoming message before typing a quick reply and putting the phone back down. It isn't long before another text arrives, and this time Elsa can't keep her thoughts to herself.

"Didn't you say you had nothing scheduled this week?"

Anna glances at her phone. "We didn't."

"So why is he still..." She frowns and looks away. "Never mind."

"No, tell me," Anna says as she searches for her eyes. "I don't want you to keep it in."

This requires liquid courage, Elsa thinks in a flash, but that would mean chugging the drink. So instead she lifts up her gaze to find not a single trace of judgement.

"Do you—I mean... You don't think he texts you too much?"

"I hadn't really thought of that," Anna responds with a frown and she thinks that she might as well have chugged the gin because her stomach suddenly feels like it's turning upside down.

"Oh..."

"But maybe you're right," she adds, already grabbing her phone and putting it away. "I'm sorry. This is our last night together, we should be enjoying it without getting distracted by other people."

"But you should respond to that message. Maybe it's important."

"It's not," Anna says, and the way she shakes her head and her voice doesn't waver makes Elsa think of two things: That she means it, and that Hans is probably not texting her about work after all.

She tucks this notion away for another day—she has to, for her own sanity. Because thinking about this will get her nowhere good and because Anna is right. The last thing they need tonight is a distraction like that. So she accepts the hand that has moved across the surface of the bar to reach for her own and smiles when Anna's fingers intertwine with hers, reminding herself once again that this, right here, is what's important.

Half an hour later, when they're on their last sips and Elsa has nearly forgotten about the group of people who peg her too shy to have a conversation with, Sasha finally arrives. He beams as he walks directly towards them, sidestepping a few people on his way over and barely stopping by to greet the people from their group.

"You're late," the blonde comments as he reaches out to hug her.

"The sun rises when it's ready, Elsa."

Next to her, Anna snorts. "That's diva talk."

"You can call it that," he says, taking off his spectacles to wipe off the droplets of mist. "Or you can call it fashionably late."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"I don't even know," he laughs. He then sobers up enough to turn to Elsa and say, "I ran into Tracy outside."

A pause. "That's lovely," Anna says sarcastically.

Sasha brings a hand up to his chest. "Was I not supposed to bring her up?"

"I don't think it really matters," Elsa tells him. She turns to her girlfriend who shrugs with uncharacteristic indifference. It makes her want to reach out and ask for a reassurance she's in desperate need for. And it isn't just because Tracy is here and she doesn't want her presence to ruin their night—Elsa knows it isn't—, she knows it is because the thought of Hans keeps searing itself into her mind and she needs something to keep it at bay.

"So... drinks?" Sasha suggests.

_That will do_.

"Yes, please."

Two hours later: Elsa sits perched on the same stool. To the right of her, sits Anna. She is laughing at something Sasha has said; laughing so hard she snorts and holds onto Elsa's shoulder so that she doesn't fall off the stool in the process. Some cocktails have passed, the music has not stopped and the continuous clusters of conversations even less so. She's caught Tracy's eye from time to time, which has been as unsurprising as the girl not approaching them at all, although Elsa can't say she minds. She may not be actively holding onto any more animosity, but the bridge between where they stand and any sort of friendship feels large and unbreachable.

An hour later and the guy who Sasha met at the club in Piccadilly will arrive. He is shorter than him, with slick, black hair and a stylish gray coat over a broad chest. His voice is thickly laced with a Spaniard's accent even if he says he's from Italy, but Elsa knows nothing about accents and who is she to judge anyway? If he wants to be from Italy then so be it.

A hand flies across her line of sight.

Dazed, she turns to Anna. "What?"

"You're staring, sweetheart."

She blinks twice. "Sorry," she mumbles, and everyone laughs except that Elsa doesn't really know why.

The two drift off at some point, leaving the girls by themselves—delighted and tipsy. Only that Anna has pulled out her phone to take a few pictures and left it again on top of the bar, its screen facing up and tantalizing Elsa with an unopened message she has no reason behind wanting to read.

"I need bathroom," she mumbles. Because better than staring at the phone is not having it in front of her at all.

Everything is muffled once she reaches the bathroom's stall. Everything except for her thoughts. She pulls her phone out and stares at its screen. Maybe she can call Rapunzel right now and ask her why she thinks Hans is clingy. Or she can call Kristoff too and ask him why he doesn't like the guy, but as her eyes move up lazily to stare at the wall she realizes: nothing good can come out of that. So why does it still bother her? Why, all of the sudden, is this something she won't stop thinking about? ( _because he won't stop calling her and texting her, that's why)._ She rotates her neck slowly, but closing her eyes doesn't do anything to quieten her mind. It makes her feel dizzy.

And why is it that you never realize how much alcohol you've had until you hit the stall?

Elsa opens the door with a deep breath and goes through the motion of washing her hands without so much as another thought. She stares at herself in the mirror and finds glassy blue eyes staring back at her with troublesome detachment. As though she were her own enemy.

She leaves the bathroom not with the intention of talking to Anna about this. Although even if she were, her plans would have fled straight out of the window. Because someone is sitting on the stool she was once occupying, and that someone is Tracy.

Three steps in: she feels like throwing up and it isn't because of the gin. Four more steps and she catches a distress in Anna's expression that is hidden as soon as she sees her.

"What's going on?"

Unperturbed, Tracy turns to face her. "I was just getting a drink," she says, lifting up her glass as if to give a toast. "But I'll leave the two of you to enjoy the rest of your night."

With that, she shares one last look with Anna, gives her an imperceptible smile, and is gone.

A second later, Elsa steps closer. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Anna mutters, "Just... Tracy being Tracy. Weird and obnoxious."

She puts her phone away as she says this but Elsa barely registers it. Something doesn't sit well with her. Something about the way Anna's smile doesn't reach her eyes, or the way she is throwing her arms around Elsa's shoulders and holding on tight.

"Can we go now?" she whispers next to her ear, and the only thing Elsa can do is nod. Because she is suddenly exhausted and scared, and the only thing she really wants to do is to hold onto Anna and never let go.

* * *

_"British Airways 1017 to New York City..."_

It is hard finding a moment of privacy inside an international airport. There's people everywhere. Many are coming and going in a blur; some are loitering around the check-in area, double checking their passports, fixing their suitcases, saying goodbye to their loved ones.

Elsa doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want to see Anna go.

"Just twenty-three more days," Anna tells her, hugging her for the umpteenth time today. "And before you ask, yes I counted."

Elsa chuckles as she hugs her even closer. Her eyes are closed, tight and unforgiving of the tears that threaten to fall if she were to open them right now. Her nose looks for Anna's scent and her lips search for any patch of skin they can find. Her mind: it goes back to last night. They haven't talked about it. Elsa has asked but Anna has brushed it off, and what else is left for her to do other than accept her girlfriend's decision? If nothing has changed in Anna's demeanor perhaps it is best to leave it behind.

"Did you make sure to check the departure time?"

"Yup."

"And you're positive you didn't pack your passport in your check-in bag?"

"Yes," she drawls, "I'm not _that_ reckless."

"Didn't it happen to you once?"

"Once."

Elsa feels like laughing but the only sound that comes out is a weak and airy chuckle. It is almost time for them to part.

"You'll text me once you get through customs?"

Anna nods weakly.

"And we'll see each other again soon, so it's okay."

A weary sigh. "Maybe I should just hide under your bed."

Elsa cradles her face in her palms and searches for the eyes that keep staring at the ground. When Anna finally looks at her, she leans in for a kiss. It is long enough that she can sear the taste of her lips into her memory until they see each other again; deep enough that they can convey exactly how they feel at the notion of parting.

Reluctantly, they let each other go. Anna tries to give her an encouraging smile and she does the same. Twenty-three days aren't so bad, she thinks as Anna gets in line at the passport check. The longest gap has already passed and they've just spent an incredible week together that nothing and no one can take away from them.

Anna offers her passport and her ticket to the officer, and she is let through. She turns around in order to give Elsa the thumbs up and the blonde reciprocates it with a wan expression.

_What are twenty-three more days?_

One last smile, a blown kiss, and Anna is gone.

* * *

Twelve days left.

Professor Park's office is located on the third floor of the Institute of Cardiovascular Science. It is smaller than the space Sasha and Elsa have occupied for almost five months, but big enough for a single person. It is also immaculate; as pristine as any doctor's consultation office should be, to the point that if there were an examination bed one could almost assume that Elsa was here for a yearly medical check up and not for a one-on-one chat that begins as soon as she sits down across from the professor.

"So we're close to the end," she says, "How are you feeling?"

"Very good," Elsa responds with honesty. "I'm still very grateful for this opportunity. Frankly, I don't think I would have learned as much if I hadn't accepted this offer."

"Are you satisfied with your own results?"

She pauses. "I believe so."

Park leans back against her chair. Whether she is happy with her answer or not, she doesn't let on. "I'll be going through all of your thesis as soon as we get back but I have no doubts in your capabilities, Elsa, and neither should you. That being said, I'm calling for individual meetings because I am curious as to what your opinions are on your own work. Was there anything you improved while being here? Or anything that you think you might have to work on moving forward?"

The question is not unexpected and yet she feels unprepared to answer it. How many people often feel like saying: _I have nothing to improve but thank you for the question this has been a lovely meeting goodbye._ And how many people actually say it? Most people stumble on their own words, they say something generic without really meaning to do anything to change it. Elsa knows she could do the same thing right now—shorten this conversation by about half an hour.

Except that she doesn't.

"I think I take it too personal," she says, "Some cases, I mean."

"What exactly is it about those cases that you take personal?"

The memory of Mrs. Davies floods her mind as the professor looks at her with both encouragement and curiosity. Elsa is starting to regret not going for the generic response. "They hit close to home," she mumbles.

"Has that affected your judgement?"

"I wouldn't say it affects my judgement more so than the fact that I carry it with me for a while."

The professor gives her a smile laced with understanding. "There is only so much we can take before feeling the weight of another person's life on our shoulders."

Elsa frowns. "But shouldn't there be a line? Between what we can allow ourselves to feel and what we should prevent ourselves from feeling?"

She looks at her with curiosity. "You know," she says, "When I was about your age, right at the beginning of my internal medicine program, I was called to the cardiac care unit for an emergency. It was a male patient, probably in his fifties. He had been admitted with a horrible chest pain that was treated and taken care of immediately." She stops for several seconds, her eyes intently focused on the desk between them. "A few hours later, we were paged back. The patient was writhing in pain this time, stroking his sternum up and down, desperate to get rid of the pressure."

"The resident I was working with told me to check his blood pressure. I remember calling out the number, and I remember him telling me to check the other arm. More people were arriving by then, I guess they were attracted by the commotion. So I wrapped the cuff around his right arm but when I let out the pressure, I heard nothing. Must be doing something wrong, I thought. I tried again and nothing, and I thought it must be all this noise. For a moment I wanted to ask Isaac to check the pressure himself but he was busy doing more important things. So I stepped to the side to give others access before I was pushed to the fringe."

The professor looks up to find Elsa intently listening. "The next morning, Isaac caught me before rounds. He told me that the patient had a tear from the abdominal aorta all the way back to the heart. The night resident had picked it up because he noticed a pulse deficit between both arms. There was no pressure on the right."

"You can't imagine the dread I felt," she tells her, "I _knew_ about pulse deficits but in all that commotion I had somehow forgotten it. I'd felt scared; unprepared. I thought about saying something but by then there was nothing anyone else could have done. The patient died a few hours later."

In the silence that follows, Elsa doesn't know how to react. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

Park dismisses it weakly. "Don't be. For weeks I couldn't get over the idea that I was somehow responsible for his death. If we'd caught the tear the previous day, maybe he could have been saved. It took me a while to convince myself that the death wasn't entirely my fault, but that didn't make me any less afraid of cardiac patients."

"Why were you afraid?"

"Because a single misdiagnosis or a single misjudgment can cost you their lives."

Elsa feels like plopping herself down on the floor and give up on medicine entirely. She really hopes this isn't supposed to be a pep talk because the professor is faring poorly.

"You look discouraged."

"I'm not—" _Don't lie_ "—but it is a sobering fact."

The professor smiles at her again, and this time there is nothing but good nature. "Fear is sometimes related to things hitting too close to home. But fear can also lead to insecurities. They can make you question everything you were once so sure about, until they cloud your judgement and you end up making regretful decisions."

"Why does that sound like you're not just referring to being a doctor?"

"Maybe because this resonates with more than just one aspect of your life."

Elsa nods before looking down at her hands. "Clearly, that's something I need to work on," she admits.

"You know where your faults lie," Park tells her, "Isn't that's always the first step?"

But isn't the first step also the hardest?

Elsa has never been good at pinpointing her emotions, including her fears. She has never been an expert at discerning the reasons behind them because they often look like an indecipherable puzzle where half of the pieces are missing. They are conflicting; sometimes contradicting, and they drive her mad. It is why she has spent years building a wall, like a defense mechanism against her own turmoil that is now hard to take down. Because she's kept herself from feeling too much, to the point of tiptoeing a line she doesn't allow herself to cross too often. And while the first step may be to recognize this, Elsa has no clue how to get to the second one.

Yet, four days later, she finds herself alone with her emotions.

She's come up to the hill on which Alexandra Palace stands. 'Ally Pally' the cab driver had called it, and Elsa had smiled because it sounded like something Anna or Rapunzel would have come up with. She wishes she could have brought Anna to this place but neither time nor the weather were on their side. Now, she sits alone on the grass, watching for a while as the sun sets over London and thinking of more things than she knows what to do with.

She keeps wondering if anything has changed back home, or if anything will change at all when she returns. She wonders, too, if she is ready for her residency to begin. The long hours, the real patients. It makes her both excited and scared. She fears another breakdown caused by the impotence of being unable to save someone's life and questions if there ever has been a trade-off in situations like these. For what is there to gain? Wisdom, perhaps. Experience.

But at what cost?

A couple walks by hand-in-hand and Elsa follows them with her eyes until they find a spot a few meters away from her. It suddenly makes her feel lonely even if she knows this is just an illusion. She has her cousin, she has her friends. And more importantly, she has Anna. Anna with her tireless affection, her overflowing generosity and that borderline bizarre capability to cheer someone up based on mere intuition. Anna with her creative mind and her book appreciation; her love for anything chocolate and her coffee addiction. Anna with her job at the agency and that clingy boss of hers that won't stop texting her even when she's supposed to be on vacation.

Suddenly, her thoughts come to a halt and so do her hands (when did they start plucking out the grass?). She'd convinced herself that she would not think of this again. She has to say this often and repetitively, like those kids in school who have to stay inside during recess to write on the board a single sentence over and over again: _I will not think of Hans under any circumstances._ Does it work? Not really. But first steps and all that.

Perhaps it will be different once Elsa is back and Anna is at work. Maybe Hans is just one of those bosses that are useless without their assistants— _it sounds about right._

Up in the sky the sun has cast its light behind the clouds, darkening their shadows and delineating their formless shapes with a bright orange hue. Maybe things will change for the better, she thinks, if they change at all. But when have changes ever listened to anyone? She must be realistic; changes are not always good. The only thing that is left for her to do is face them, accept them, and adapt—which sounds like something from a handbook for people who are about to go into the wilderness, so Elsa decides to drop that train of thought entirely.

A man and his dog have joined their sunset-watching party. Are you here to contemplate your existence too? Elsa wants to ask him. Or are you just here for the ride? Maybe he's just here for the ride. Pets do that to you, don't they? They change you for the better. Maybe she'll suggest Rapunzel adopting a dog. But images of a wrecked apartment come to life in her head and she drops that immediately as well. Maybe a fish. Or a lizard. Something that can't join in on her cousin's madness.

She almost laughs at this, and just like that she feels ready to go back home. 

London will always hold that special place in her heart because of everything it stood for, and everything it taught her. She will remember the way she felt when she was living here, both the loneliness and the happiness. She'll recall its streets, and the tea shops she got to visit, and the pubs where she went a couple of drinks past the point of tipsy. She will treasure every famous spot along with images of Anna in every single one of them, and she will tuck London away in her heart, right where nostalgia rests. Because the thing about memories is that no one can take them away from you, but you can also never bring them back to life.

And now that the sun has set and has started to give way to a starless night sky, Elsa begins to slowly stand up. She looks out at the city lights glistening across London and, with a few deep breaths, she takes it all in one last time.

She turns her back to it with a smile and something gently weighing down on her chest. It feels like wistfulness already.

It feels like goodbye.

* * *

Eight-ish hours left.

Not that she's counting.

It is cramped inside the airplane. Elsa has already found her way to her seat, two away from the aisle. She's removed her jacket, folded it and placed it on top of her already buckled-up lap. Out the window: a gray midday at Heathrow, vehicles transporting cargo and men in bright, yellow vests. She feels like closing the shade and closing her eyes but there is too much going on around her: passengers awkwardly bumping their way down the aisle; a man assisting a tiny woman with her huge overhead luggage; the steward's voice coming on and off to welcome them aboard.

From the seat in front of her, Sasha pops up his head. "I can't believe Park assigned our seats like we're in middle school."

She chuckles. "Maybe it's for the best."

Down the aisle comes Tracy, sidestepping a man who's taking a little too long with his luggage. She passes number 14, then 15. At 16 she catches Sasha's eye and smiles before moving on to 17. There is a halt in her actions that resumes when the woman behind her clears her throat.

She takes the seat next to Elsa.

Sasha makes a face before sitting back down with a huff that almost makes her smirk. In an attempt to ignore the girl next to her she pulls out her phone and opens her messages. She looks for one in particular. Anna's last text: _Just a few more hours and I'll have you in my arms again!! I LOVE YOU._

Closing her eyes, Elsa sighs and rests her head back. She can hear Tracy shuffling in her seat, perhaps taking off her coat or searching for the buckle end of the belt, but she will not open her eyes again to look at her until they are flying well above the ground, somewhere on the outskirts of London.

Tracy is immersed in a book, and in another world—another galaxy maybe—Elsa would endorse her choice of Sartre.

"What did you say to Anna?" She asks, her voice low enough to match the humming sound of the airplane's engine.

The girl puts her book down slowly, almost as if she'd been expecting this question all along. She regards Elsa with a serenity that is unnerving before saying, "Wasn't that like three weeks ago?"

"That's not important."

"You mean she hasn't told you?"

She maintains her stare until the brunette looks away with a heavy breath. "To be honest with you, I didn't say much about anything which is probably why she didn't tell you."

Elsa bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't know what to say to this and after a few seconds, when she's looked out the window to observe the clouds below them and Tracy has gone back to her book, she will realize it is because there is nothing left to say.

"But actually," Tracy suddenly says, "You know what can destroy a relationship?"

Elsa turns to her with a weary expression.

"Besides cheating, I mean. Cause we all know that leaves you with some trust issues and more often than not it fucks up any future relationship you may have."

"Speaking from experience?" Elsa asks without thinking.

Tracy rolls her eyes. "If you must know, yes. But my point is, there's something other than cheating that can mess up a relationship."

Part of her doesn't want to hear this, another part tells her she doesn't have a choice; a smaller, almost insignificant part really wants to know. But Tracy is already leaning closer, enough so that their elbows touch and she can look at Elsa straight in the eye when she says: "Miscommunication. It's Anna who you need to talk to, not me."

Elsa puffs out a sigh. "That's nothing I haven't heard before."

"Then maybe you needed a reminder."

She glances at the man sitting on the other side of Tracy, with his head heavily leaning towards the aisle and his double chin protruding out of his neck pillow. Elsa partly wishes she could be him, sleeping and unperturbed.

"Happy birthday, by the way."

Her eyes fall back on Tracy again. This takes her by surprise. "It's not until tomorrow."

"I know, but unless you'll accept a platonic invitation to have coffee _or_ tea then I won't be seeing you until the next semester starts."

Elsa nods weakly and lets out another deep breath. "How did you know?"

Tracy smirks. "I work in administration, Elsa. I've seen your birthdate at some point."

_What else do you know?_ She wants to ask, but that is paranoid and pointless, and the only thing this tells her is that she should just try to sleep and stop talking nonsense for the rest of the flight; close her eyes and open them back up when they land at JFK. Yet, manners are manners, and Elsa would not sit comfortably if she didn't at least treat Tracy with some sort of cordiality and say: "Thank you."

"No biggie," the girl responds with a smile, ending the conversation herself by plugging in her earphones and going back to Sartre's existentialism.

* * *

It feels good to be back. Better than she expected actually, like a lengthy sigh of relief.

She thought she'd be nervous, that she would feel the readjustment of coming back home hit her as soon as she stepped off the airplane and began treading across the jet bridge. She thought her stomach would be doing somersaults at the notion of coming back to New York's endless hustle; of submerging herself once more into its cacophony, or of leaving London behind. But all she feels is an eagerness that fuels every step, from the moment she arrives at the gate to the moment she's picked up her suitcases at the baggage claim. 

She's already said goodbye to everyone before reaching the doors. She's hugged Sasha as though they were separating forever. She's shaken Park's hand with deep gratitude, and she's even gone as far as giving the faintest of smiles to Tracy.

And what a good idea that was—to have said goodbye already. Because as soon as the doors slide open she is tackled by her cousin. 

Elsa laughs as she hugs Rapunzel back and thinks: It feels good to be home. It feels good to have her cousin talking her ear off already even if she only catches half of it. Even as she keeps trying to move them to the side and away from the doors, her eyes searching for Anna amongst strangers.

"I need to tell you something," Rapunzel rushes out, but they're soon tackled by Kristoff and Eugene, and Elsa is sure that whatever she has to say is not _Move, you heavy beasts!_

Kristoff has a goofy grin plastered on his face when he hugs her and lifts her up the floor. Eugene, ever suave, is smirking, although the warmth in his embrace betrays his aloofness. 

Meanwhile, Rapunzel insists on poking her arm. "Elsa, Elsa—"

But Elsa's attention is elsewhere, for Anna is standing close by, smiling softly, and opening her arms to welcome Elsa home. And what could be more important than this?

They embrace in silence, amidst the elation of dozens of strangers meeting with their loved ones again. Unlike their meeting in London there is a lack of urgency this time. Everything has been subdued. Yet, nothing has changed. Anna smells like she always has, and her eyes show the same flicker of delight they always have.

But then Anna is leaning back and her face lights up the same way it always does when she suddenly remembers something. And not even that has changed.

"You must be Elsa," someone behind her says, and when she turns around she will not need to recognize his face to know exactly who he is. 


	27. Lessons learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big and special shout out to Dillautris for making a lovely fanart of the [nightclub scene](https://dillautris.tumblr.com/post/625908134479790081/nightclub-babes-the-joys-in-the-universe-is)  
> .  
> You guys are all incredible... Stay safe!

There is something off about Elsa. It is dreadfully conspicuous, and Anna can recognize the shift in an instant.

She wants to know what's wrong; she wants to pull Elsa to the side and ask if it's something she's said or done, but there is too much going on all around them. Amidst the crowd, Sasha has briefly caught up to them. He has introduced Elsa and Anna to his parents and has said goodbye with a wink that Anna barely registers. A moment later, they start to move away from the people still lingering by the arrival gate so that they can head towards the exit. Rapunzel, Kristoff and Eugene are doing their own thing, talking to Elsa about things that sound too distant, while to her left, Hans is saying something that she doesn't hear. She is too focused on the way Elsa's hand feels in her own—cold and distant.

"Anna."

She snaps out of it and turns to her boss.

"I can drive you guys back," he repeats, already taking his keys out of the pocket of his coat. He has a Lexus but it is far from an SUV, and unless one of them sits on top of somebody else, Anna doubts they can make this work.

"That won't be necessary, thank you," Elsa responds for her. The tone of her voice is polite but inflexible, and in that moment Anna is hit with the realization that the reason behind her sudden change of demeanor is standing right here with them.

Hans's eyes shift from Elsa to Anna and back before a smile creeps across his face. He nods shortly, although cordially, and extends a hand towards the blonde once more.

"It was a pleasure to finally meet you," he says, his smile widening when she shakes it with cold solemnity. He extends the same formalities to the rest of their friends until he finally turns to Anna and says: "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't be late."

He leaves, like a sour aftertaste. And it isn't because Anna has just now felt the beginnings of a dread that will extend itself well into the late hours of the night, but because everyone is expressing a relief she did not know was being restricted by Hans. She is suddenly feeling the hefty weight of unease pressing down on her, unforgiving and relentless. There is guilt in every step she takes and the farther they get from the airport, the more distance she feels being wedged between Elsa and her. The problem is, she doesn't know what she should be feeling guilty about. She knows Hans had never been part of the plan but the fastest way for her to get to the airport in time required his help. Should she be feeling guilty, then, for wanting to be there for Elsa?

There is no answer to this. There are barely any words at all, like a well of silence so big that it separates her from the person she loves the most in this world.

They take the A Line straight back to Manhattan. Over an hour's worth of commute that is spent with Elsa quietly sitting next to her, answering her cousin and Eugene's questions while Kristoff stands to the other side of Anna looking like a nightclub bouncer on a bad night.

"...and I was telling Anna that we should've thrown you a surprise welcoming party but then none of us would have been able to pick you up at the airport and she said that was too mean."

"So instead she got her boss to join us," Kristoff quips with annoyance.

Anna frowns, slouching against the seat.

"Yeah, what was that about?" Eugene asks as he scoots to the edge of the bench across from the girls, his expression one of irritating curiosity.

"We finished work late," she says, barely holding in her frustration. "So he offered to drive me to the airport because if I had taken the train I wouldn't have made it on time. I've explained this to you guys like three times already."

The gap of silence that follows is only broken by the operator's deep and detached voice coming in from the speakers to announce the next stop. Anna goes on looking down at her lap, at the hands that have not held onto Elsa's since they boarded the train. She can feel her friends' eyes on her, but the sensation of Elsa's gaze outweighs them all. It is as though she was waiting for Anna to say something; for her to brush off the entire ordeal, throw Kristoff a witty comeback and move on. But when Anna turns to face her, she looks away and the moment is gone.

"It sounds like you're hangry," Rapunzel says from the other side of Elsa.

"Maybe," she forces out.

She leans her head back while everyone else moves on to another topic. The train screeches to a halt; the doors slide open; two men step out, and no one steps in. Right before the doors slide closed again she catches the name of the station and with a heavy sigh, she closes her eyes.

They're not even in Brooklyn yet.

In the end, they make it to the East Village at almost 9 PM. Once inside the girls' apartment, silence sneaks in and settles heavily amongst them like an unwelcome guest. The lights in the hallway go on, and Anna follows its lit up path as the last of the trio. Her attention zeroes in on the sound of the suitcases' wheels rattling against the wooden floor while she thinks, not for the first time tonight, that this is not how she expected to welcome her girlfriend back home.

The lights in the living room go on next. She watches Elsa look around, perhaps taking everything in after being away for what felt like longer than it actually was. All of it is in its rightful place. There are no empty cups on the coffee table, no book misplaced, no crooked pillow on the sofa, and Anna can't help but smile. Because this was all Rapunzel's doing. And because this is closer to the type of welcoming she wishes she had given her.

From the kitchen, Rapunzel cranes her neck to speak to them.

"Cousin, you hungry? Anna, are you still hangry? I can cook you guys something. Like cereal or whatever."

Elsa shakes her head, gives her a wan smile and reaches for the handles of her two suitcases again. "I'm okay, thank you," she says, glancing at Anna one last time before silently making her way to her room.

The door is left ajar and the mere sight of it causes Anna's stomach to churn with unease. She knows she should follow after her but the acknowledgment doesn't make it any easier. The problem is not doing it; the problem is what will happen once she does. All of the sudden, Anna feels exhausted but she doubts it is solely because of work. None of this was supposed to happen. This living room, as it is, should have been filled with conversation and laughter. It should have been occupied late into the night, while Elsa told them everything about London despite the fact that there was nothing new to tell. While Rapunzel threw random questions at her and Anna sat on the sofa curled up against her body until the clock hit midnight and they could have both wished Elsa a happy birthday.

"You should talk to her," Rapunzel whispers harshly, making her jump. _When did she get so freaking close?_

"I know."

A pause. The girl is staring at her. She finds it hard to stare back.

"It wasn't a very good idea to invite Hansel to the airport."

"It's Hans."

Rapunzel rolls her eyes. "I know his name."

She sighs defeatedly. "Okay..."

A pair of arms wrap themselves around her shoulders. Rapunzel's embrace is warm and for a moment, no matter how fleeting it might be, Anna doesn't feel so crappy about what she's done. 

"Don't cry, it's gonna be okay."

"I'm not crying."

"You know what I mean."

With that, Rapunzel steps back. There is an encouraging smile that Anna appreciates and a gentle pat on the head that she doesn't appreciate as much before the girl grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around. She prompts her forward even if she doesn't need to, and in less than five steps she reaches Elsa's bedroom.

Inside, Elsa is crouching by one of her suitcases.

"What are you up to?" Anna asks. The nonchalance in her voice makes her want to smack her own forehead, but somewhere inside of her there is still a trace of self-restraint and she uses the last of it for this.

"Unpacking."

She steps closer. "You spent five months away from your room and the first thing you choose to do is unpack?"

"Better sooner than later," Elsa replies coldly. Not once has she looked up from the sweater she's pulled out of her suitcase in order to fold it properly. _À la Elsa,_ Anna has always thought. Four steps to fold a single sweater. How infuriating.

Anna takes another step closer. Her right foot bumps into the other suitcase but she keeps herself from cursing out loud—there really goes the very last of her self-restraint.

"Elsa," she murmurs, "Talk to me."

The folded sweater is laid softly on the bed. Elsa's shoulders go up before Anna hears the heavy sigh that escapes through her nose. It happens once, then twice, and Anna can do nothing but stare dumbly at her.

"Why was Hans there?" She finally asks.

"I already told you, because we finished work late and taking the train would have taken me much longer than him driving me to the airport."

"But why was he _inside_ , Anna. He could have just dropped you off and be done with his selfless deed of the day."

Anna frowns as she feels another sharp rush of dread take over her body.

"Because I wanted him to meet you..."

"What makes you think I wanted that to happen?"

It feels like a blow. Elsa's voice is tainted by an accusation, bitter and resentful. It pushes her so far away from Anna that it feels as though she cannot reach out to her. Yet, she tries. She takes one last step forward, and Elsa responds by sitting on the bed and looking down at the floor with her palms cradling her elbows.

"Tell me what you're feeling," Anna says.

"I'm feeling angry," she responds, "I was so happy to be back, to see all of you, to see _you._ Hans just felt like a slap in the face."

"I was trying to get to the airport in time, Elsa. Can you at least understand that?"

Elsa stands back up with enough force that she takes a step back. "But _why_ , Anna, why did you even ask him to stay—what's so special about us meeting that couldn't have waited another day? Do you not realize how it feels for me to come back home after being away for months and then having to see him without so much as a warning?"

"But what's the big deal! It's just Hans—"

"I don't _like_ him _._ "

She stares dumbfounded. "Okay, and how was I supposed to know that in the first place? How on earth am I supposed to guess that you don't like my boss?"

"Maybe if you hadn't checked your phone so desperately every time he texted you in London you would have noticed my reactions."

Another jab, and Anna can feel herself becoming increasingly frustrated.

"Maybe if you hadn't kept it in like you always do..."

Elsa scoffs. "You were just waiting to get that one out, weren't you?"

"Of course not. But if you don't talk to me how the hell am I supposed to know?"

"I'm talking to you right now, aren't I? He texted you so much I was starting to wonder if you really meant it when you said you had nothing scheduled for that week."

"You know I would never lie to you."

Elsa goes to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Right," she breathes weakly, "I'm going to sleep then because this is pointless. Thank you for the wonderful welcoming."

"Don't," Anna rushes out as she steps in between her and the door. She holds onto her forearms, gently urging her to take a step back. "We need to talk about this. Whatever it is about Hans that's really bothering you, you can just tell me... Is it really just the texting?"

She adverts her eyes. "I don't know, Anna... I really don't know, but whatever it is it's stupid anyway because he's your boss and I should just respect the fact that he takes up more time and attention than other people will."

"It isn't stupid. Why do you always have to downgrade your emotions like that?" She searches for an answer that is bound not to be found. Anna has learned this the hard way. Elsa doesn't just keep her emotions tucked away, she undermines them to the breaking point.

"Are you jealous then?"

"Should I be?"

"You know the answer to that— _God_ , it's like the whole Tracy thing all over again."

"How is that the same? I'm telling you how I feel about your boss and you're acting like I'm some crazy jealous girlfriend."

"I didn't call you crazy! I just asked you a question, stop putting words in my mouth."

Elsa crosses her arms. "I'm not jealous," she states, "And it's not a matter of trust either. I don't feel comfortable at the thought of Hans, not with the way he wouldn't stop texting you and calling you while you were away. But what angers me the most is that out of _any_ day you had to choose this one to introduce me to him."

"Okay, I'm sorry," she exclaims, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I know I messed up. I should have never asked him to meet you even though I had no idea you hated him so much."

"Just tell me something then," Elsa says, "Why was he texting you so much?"

"Well, why don't we ask him?" She responds sarcastically.

"It wouldn't hurt you to take something seriously for once."

"I don't have an answer to that, Elsa. He's my _boss_. I can't exactly question every decision he makes, that's not how this works."

"So what you're telling me is that however he treats you, you will take it because he's your boss."

Anna sighs in exasperation. She gives herself a time-out by going to sit on the edge of the bed and running her palms down her face. She feels so stupidly tired.

"It's not like he's treating me like shit," she says with scorn, "And what the hell does that have to do with anything? What are you even mad about, that he showed up at the airport or that he was texting me—"

"Both, Anna! You were supposed to be on vacation and you shouldn't have asked him to stay. This might not be a big deal to you, but you of all people should have known it would have been for me. You didn't think about it and now look where that got us... You can't even apologize for it and mean it."

The air feels as though it has thickened inside the room. Elsa has spoken her mind and Anna, rightfully so, has taken the blow. She feels disheartened to have been the cause of this, and stupid because she should have known. She really, _really_ should have known.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs at last, but Elsa is already shaking her head.

"It's been a long day," she responds, her voice soft and defeated. "I'm going to sleep. Maybe you should, too."

Elsa leaves the room after this while Anna remains sitting where she is, staring at the open suitcase with disdain. So much for unpacking, she thinks before looking the other way and finding Elsa's sweater still neatly folded on the bed. It sits there, mocking her, and for a moment she feels like disarranging it just for the heck of it—just to make a mess out of something that isn't her relationship. She figures that could be cathartic in its own way.

But of course it isn't, and neither is the dead silence that meets her when Elsa returns from the bathroom, changes into more comfortable clothes and gets in bed, forgetting about the suitcase that Anna feels the need to close and drag to the foot of her wardrobe lest anyone decides to get up in the middle of the night and trips on it. The good intentions are there, but the consideration... that should have been in her mind more than a few hours ago.

Anna berates herself as she lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling washed by the dim moonlight that seeps in from the window. Her hands rest on her belly, itching to find comfort in the girl that lies facing away from her. This silence between them... It clenches around her throat before she feels the first of her tears well up in her eyes. Quietly, so that Elsa can't sense that she's crying, Anna covers her face. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing herself to stay calm in the engulfing darkness of the room. If only she weren't so impulsive. If only she had taken a few extra seconds to consider that Elsa wouldn't appreciate meeting a virtual stranger on the same day that she's finally come back home.

And the texting... The stupidtexting that didn't mean anything in the first place. She had thought Elsa had not taken it to heart, that she'd understood it was just Hans and that there was nothing more to it. But Elsa had been right: it had been too much. She'd known this and had wondered herself why he insisted on texting her about things only vaguely related to work. Yet, Hans was her boss, and Anna had not known what to do...

_"Rushing for the phone as soon as the girlfriend's gone?" Tracy clicked her tongue._

_Anna had been past the point of expecting a reencounter with her that night but the moment Elsa had gone to the bathroom she'd boldly taken up her spot with the excuse of ordering a drink. Her presence had been annoying, but the statement had been infuriating._

_"Don't you have better things to do other than pinning after someone who won't even look at you?"_

_Tracy laughed. "Oh, sweetheart. I know when a battle is lost and which lines not to cross, but do you?"_

_"You're delusional," she scowled, "I don't know if you were dropped on your head as a child to come up with such idiotic things but if you think I'm cheating on Elsa then you're wrong. And even if she were single, don't fool yourself by thinking she would ever choose to be with someone like you."_

_The girl smirked as she grabbed the cocktail placed for her on the bar. "You know," she said, "Under different circumstances we could have been friends."_

_"Doubtful," Anna responded, and as she watched her take a sip of her drink she wondered what it was about Tracy that was so abnormally annoying. It wasn't exactly the fact that she appeared to be so pretentious. It was her aloofness; unmoved and unnervingly constant._

_"Here's an advice from a non-friend then," she said, leaning closer. "I don't care about who you're texting, or why. But for the sake of your precious relationship, don't do something good that appears to be bad."_

An imperceptible sigh escapes her as she recalls that conversation over and over again. Her cheeks are damp with the few tears that she could not keep from falling. The silence: it stubbornly holds onto its suffocating weight. Next to her, Elsa is still awake. She can feel it in a way that she cannot describe, like the vibrations of the energy they share; a sound that cannot be heard.

Anna holds her breath as she looks at the shape of Elsa's form, dark in contrast with the light of the moon. It makes her heart ache. Her hand moves in the darkness and stops mere inches away from her turned back. This girl she loves... so close and yet so far away.

"I'm sorry," she breathes.

A beat, heavy and distressing. Elsa moves, barely so, and Anna feels brave enough to inch closer. She touches her arm and when Elsa doesn't pull away she lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

"I know I messed up," she says, "Not just today but when I was in London too."

A few seconds pass before Elsa turns to face her. She says nothing; she waits for Anna to continue. "And you're right, I should have waited. I think I was just so excited to see you again that I did everything without thinking about it first."

"You're impulsive," Elsa points out without any venom in her words.

"I am," she says, dispirited. "And I'm sorry. You're not me, and I should have considered that you wouldn't have appreciated meeting someone fresh out of a flight, especially if you're not a big fan of that someone."

Elsa looks away. "You didn't know," she mutters.

Anna scoots closer still, her hand going up to cradle Elsa's cheek. The way the girl's eyes close as she leans into the touch is enough to make her want to cry again. "But I should have paid more attention... I don't want you to think that you come in second when it comes to him because you don't, or that there's something going on when there isn't."

"I understand you can't exactly ignore him but... I don't know. I just felt like many of those texts weren't work related."

"They weren't," Anna says, shaking her head. "I don't think they were a priority either. I guess I've never had someone for whom I've worked this way. I don't know where to draw a line because I'm scared that if I take too long to respond or straight up ignore him, I could mess things up. I already did once with that Frank guy."

Elsa lets out a deep breath before she grabs Anna's hand and squeezes it. "I'm sorry for not telling you how I felt... again."

"You kinda did," she teases lightly.

"I'm sorry for how I said it then."

She smiles sadly at this. "Why did you not tell me anything when I was in London?"

Elsa turns downcast, almost ashamed. "He's your boss. I felt like I was overthinking everything again and like it was just my insecurities talking. I didn't want to make a problem out of this when you clearly didn't mind as much."

"I kind of did," Anna admits sheepishly. "But again, I'm scared to mess this up."

"You could set boundaries for yourself..."

She nods pensively.

"And it's not like you will be his assistant forever, right?"

"God no. I still kind of want to become a writer and all that."

A chuckle. "Maybe one day you'll get to boss him around when he begs to become your agent."

"Maybe," she smiles as she tucks Elsa's hair behind her ear. Her fingertips ghost over the skin of her forehead before they travel down to her cheek, driving the girl to close her eyes again. "I'm really sorry for ruining tonight."

"The night isn't over yet," Elsa whispers.

As if on cue, she pulls back to reach for her phone on the nightstand. The time reads 11:49 PM and Anna widens her eyes even if the bright light makes it hard for her to do so. She gets out of bed without a second thought, mumbling something incoherent when Elsa asks her where she's going. Her backpack hangs on a hook next to her girlfriend's—a backpack that went unused for over five months and one which Anna was tempted to borrow more times than she'd ever admit out loud. Out of her own, she pulls a small envelope before turning back around and tripping on the suitcase she had dragged to the side (lest somebody trips on it— _yeah_ _right_.) She watches Elsa sit up and smiles when she hears the first genuine laugh of the night.

Anna turns on the lamp next to her side of the bed, and instantly feels the smile leave her face. Elsa is looking at her with curiosity in her red-rimmed eyes, softened now by the words they've shared and the exhaustion she most likely feels.

"I'm sorry," she says, deflated all over again. "I'm so sorry for how today went."

"I'm very sorry too, baby."

Elsa takes hold of her hand and prompts her to sit closer. She then brushes her cheeks with her thumbs, gently wiping away all traces of tears. The stillness that surrounds them is no longer the same, it isn't heavy nor suffocating; it is a stillness in which they can both breathe.

And how can silence sound so differently and yet be the same?

"Let's put it behind us," Elsa murmurs, her voice soft but determined. "What is that?"

Anna looks down at the envelope before she hands it to her. She watches her open it and pull out its contents as she gives her an explanation: "We did Central Park last year so I figured we could do the Rockefeller's ice rink this time. You'll probably have to teach me everything again because I'm not sure how much of it stuck but I don't think I'll be as sucky."

"Thank you," Elsa says and in her words there is more than just gratitude.

Softly, Anna cups her face. She no longer feels the need to check the time. She no longer has the desire to separate herself from Elsa for the rest of the night. "Happy birthday, baby," she murmurs.

The first kiss they share is soft, almost hesitant, yet Anna can feel something beyond affection igniting from it. It conveys everything that's been said and everything that's gone unsaid, too. It translates directly into the way Elsa's lips push harder against hers, capturing her lower lip before sucking softly on it while Anna scoots closer to rest her hand on the girl's waist.

Their movements are slow and deliberate. There is no rush this time; no need to prove themselves in a single gesture. And when Elsa's hand goes to the back of her neck, and her head tilts to deepen the kiss, Anna's mind drowns out everything else. She allows herself to be anchored by the way Elsa's tongue feels warm against her own, following the motion of their bodies as they move to lie on the bed and craving a connection that doesn't need to be explained.

Fingertips brush against the skin of her arm, forming a trail that goes up from her forearm to her bicep while they separate for an instant; their noses touching; their breaths mingling.

"Let me make it up to you," Anna whispers, her hand already moving under Elsa's t-shirt to caress the skin of her stomach.

Her girlfriend shakes her head as she takes hold of Anna's hand and guides it out from under the shirt to the space next to her head. "I want to feel you," Elsa whispers back, pinning her flat against the bed with arousing pressure.

For the rest of the night, there will be nothing left to say between them.

* * *

Anna doesn't understand what it is about rooftops. They keep finding themselves on one as if these were the only hang out spots they were allowed to access in New York. But whatever the reason may be she can't exactly complain because no matter the location, a rooftop in the city is always kind of a good idea even if the technicalities of climbing up aren't exactly what one would call safe. More often than not they are kind of shady, and Anna would be lying if she didn't question the sanity of those closest to her whenever they—

"Why do we always have to be sneaking up to rooftops like fugitives?" Elsa asks from behind her.

"It's called having fun, you should try it sometimes," Rapunzel quips.

From above her, Eugene sniggers.

It is ass-freezing up here, and kind of dark, and the fire escape ladder is moist because of the sleet that covered the city earlier today. They're going up at a snail's pace because nobody wants to fall off from this seven-floor tall building and welcome the New Year dead. But it was this or Times Square and _no one_ wanted to do Times Square except for Rapunzel, because Rapunzel is weird and apparently she has a knack for obnoxious crowds where one has to stand around for hours, all crammed up and with nowhere close to pee—"And for what?" Eugene had asked, "The ball is so tiny you can't even see it."

So here they are, crawling up like fugitives to reach the rooftop on Kristoff's apartment building so that they can watch the fireworks set up on the Hudson River when the clock strikes midnight. Eugene leads the way because he says he's the least clumsy of them all but what does that matter? That won't save anyone from falling but himself, and if Anna had to choose she would have chosen Elsa anyway. She swears she's never seen the girl take a wrong step. Stealthy as a cat, and so, _so_ flexible—

"Anna."

"What?"

"Why did you stop?" Elsa asks.

"Uh... no reason."

Up on the rooftop they set everything up. It reminds her of the way Elsa had their date set up for Valentine's Day, but more chaotic and less intimate. There are no pillows this time either, only the flameless candles her girlfriend once used, a handful of blankets and four camping chairs that Kristoff found in his closet—except that there's five of them and two people will have to share one, although Anna has already volunteered to sit on Elsa's lap because she is a selfless and generous friend. In the meantime, Eugene has pulled out a bottle of sparkling wine so that they can cheer to the New Year, whenever that is. Anna hasn't checked the time since they snuck out of the window.

"The cool thing about being up here," Eugene says, "Is that you don't need a fridge to keep this baby from getting warm."

But warm is exactly what Anna needs, so she's ignored everyone's alcoholic tendencies and made herself a hot chocolate that she's carried inside a thermos the same way Elsa did for them.

"Okay everyone," Rapunzel says, "We have like thirty minutes until midnight."

"What are we going to do until then?" Elsa asks. 

"We should have brought UNO."

"And be hurled out of this rooftop by one of you? No thanks."

"You're just a sore loser," Anna tells Kristoff.

"I'm not the one giving out death threats to everyone who gives me a Draw Four."

"I didn't threaten to kill you."

"You did threaten to break up with me though," Elsa mumbles.

"Relax, people," Eugene cuts in, "I say we all take our chill pills and contemplate our existence instead."

Everyone stares at him but follows his lead when he looks up at the sky, where only a handful of stars can be seen through the glare of New York's city lights. Anna feels the arms around her tighten briefly before she looks down to find Elsa looking at her instead.

"Damn, that was depressing," Kristoff mumbles.

"Why?" Anna asks with genuine curiosity. She made amends but had not seen him since Elsa's birthday, at the small gathering they had after she and Elsa spent the day together, making up for the previous night by visiting some of the places her girlfriend had missed the most and ice skating at the Rockefeller Center. She'd invited Sasha to the party as well, and he'd fit right in. Like Rapunzel's long lost brother.

Back on the rooftop, Kristoff shrugs: "You know when you have no idea what you're doing with your life?"

"Dude," Eugene says, picking up a can of beer she did not know he'd brought with him. "We just graduated this year. I don't think many of us will have it together together for a few more years."

"You're one to talk. You just got a job at some fancy business firm. Rapunzel's doing her art thingy and she'll probably book another show soon for all we know. Anna is working for what's-his-name at a book agency and Elsa is a doctor—"

"I'm not—"

"That doesn't mean we have it together," Rapunzel cuts in.

"And I'm not exactly doing what I love," Anna adds.

He slouches, his bulky body sinking lower still into the chair. He then extends his arm towards Eugene to reach out for the beer and his friend complies without so much as a questioning look. In the distance, the booming sound of a single firework goes off while the sky remains nothing more than a black canvas.

"You wanna sing Kumbaya?" Anna asks.

Kristoff chuckles. He seems so tired all of the sudden that part of her wants to comfort him with a hug. She knows what he's feeling; she has recognized it too often in herself.

"One of these days I'm going to make you all sing Kumbaya for real, in the middle of the street, and none of you will get to say no."

"I'd like to see you try, wonder bread."

Elsa laughs at this. It is nearly a guffaw—short, loud and so out of character that she covers her mouth with her hand as soon as everyone turns to look at her.

"Sorry," she says, "That was just... funny."

Anna is overcome with so much sudden affection that her first reaction is to pull Elsa's face closer to her so that she can plant a smoldering kiss on her cheek. "You're so cute," she mumbles in between playful, chaste kisses that Elsa doesn't try hard enough to avoid.

A few minutes later and a dangerous attempt made by Rapunzel, Eugene pops the sparkling wine open. He serves it in colored plastic cups—yellow, purple, green, blue and something debatable between pink, orange and red—that remind Anna of the ones she used to have at home, back when she was something akin to eight years old.

"So what are the hopes for the new year?" Anna asks.

"To have it together together."

"That's deep, bro."

Her phone suddenly vibrates in her jeans and she twists on Elsa's lap to pull it out. It is Hans; not exactly the most unexpected of people at this point. She reads the message without unlocking the screen. It is a simple _Happy New Year!_ that makes her pause for a moment before she puts the phone away.

"You're not going to answer?" Elsa asks.

Anna shakes her head. She's not making the same mistake twice. "It can wait."

Her girlfriend says nothing, and neither does her expression. It is blank without being hostile or closed off, but it is enough to make Anna shift the focus of the conversation. "It's your graduation this summer," she prompts.

Elsa nods slowly. "Crazy, right?"

"Are you excited?"

"Scared and excited. It is starting to get real."

Anna cradles her cheek with her left hand. The skin feels cold to the touch; like marble. "You're going to make a great doctor some day."

The blonde smiles before leaning in to capture her lips for a kiss she soon loses herself in. No matter how chaste, it is long and overwhelming, and Anna has to remind herself that they are not alone on this rooftop.

"In six more years or so," Elsa mutters after breaking the kiss.

"Let's take it one year at a time."

She grins playfully. "What other choice do we have?"

"Quit smooching over there!"

Anna pulls slightly back with a hearty laugh.

They don't realize it is midnight, and the beginning of a new year, until the sky lights up with fireworks and the streets down below suddenly come to life with thunderous celebrations. Beams reach out to the stars and loudly burst into greens, reds and yellows that illuminate the city, their reflections glittering on the surface of the Hudson River before leaving traces of smoke in their wake. The fireworks resume, over and over again in luminous sequences, as they all cheer and drink sparkling wine off their kiddie cups.

In the following minutes, every worry is forgotten. There is no room for it; no desire to dwell on uncertainties when the thought of a new year brings along new wishes and new goals to be set. And Anna figures, as she allows Elsa to pull her closer with a hand on the back of her neck, that all she wants for herself is to be happy, and to feel like she's making the right choices. None of it feels so far fetched after all. Not when her friends are right here with her, on a rooftop somewhere in Chelsea, infected by joy. And especially not when she feels Elsa's cold lips against her own, smiling softly before she deepens a kiss that steals her breath away.

Up in the sky, fireworks continue to explode one after the other as they both welcome the new year the same way they started the last one: in each other's arms.

* * *

The M train rattles against the rails in one soothing, repetitive motion as it crosses the borough of Queens.

Inside, Anna sits immersed in a book—a paperback with yellowy pages and a withered spine, and on its cover a painted portrait of Jane Austen. She bought it for a dollar at a bookstore in the Village. A dangerous affair that could have ended up with her buying too many books had she not been supervised.

Next to her, Elsa is resting her eyes. Classes have started already and so will rotations by the end of next week. Anna had suggested visiting Theo and then having dinner back in Manhattan, like a last source of distraction before things became too hectic for her. They'd called in advance to check if it was a good day for a visit and Theo had said yes, please. She would teach them how to make a mean hot toddy but could they stop by the grocery store for so and so ingredients?.. And don't forget the whiskey.

"Listen to this," Anna suddenly says, drawing Elsa's attention away from her beauty nap. "The distance is nothing when one has a motive... See? Lizzy gets me."

Elsa leans closer to take a look at the line she's just read out loud. "She walked three miles, Anna. Not flew to another continent."

She shrugs. "I'm pretty sure my life is a Jane Austen novel."

"Does that make me Mr. Darcy, then?"

"You're too nice to be Mr. Darcy."

"But he gets the girl in the end."

"Shit, that's true..."

The train goes on for two more stops before reaching the end of the line. It has started to snow this afternoon, a gentle fall that hits the pavement without making a sound. Snowflakes fall upon the skin of Anna's face as white blends in with the freckles on her nose and cheeks before becoming droplets that she barely perceives. She is swinging the grocery bag back and forth, mindful enough not to drop it and break the small bottle of whiskey inside, and overtly happy to finally be able to spend time with Elsa after barely seeing her at all for the past few days. It had been a busy start of the year for the two of them, with Elsa adjusting to her last semester of med school and Anna having a heavy workload with dozens of submissions and queries to go through with Hans.

"You know how gyms are always full at the beginning of January?" He'd said, "Every aspiring writer has the same resolution every single year."

This had not made typing rejection letters any easier for her.

They get to the senior center a few minutes later; the action of walking up its front path and signing up at its lobby almost a habit by now. When they enter the drawing room they are welcomed by familiar faces and before reaching Theo they take their time saying hi to everybody. The air is solemn around the holidays; quieter than usual. It is a room full of memories that carry the heavy weight of nostalgia on the shoulders of those who lived them.

Anna rushes to hug Theo first before allowing Elsa and her to have a moment, for it is the first time they see each other since Elsa's come back from London. She looks around in the meantime, wondering if perhaps they've missed Louie on their way over. The plastic bag is still dangling from her hand, and it isn't until Theo has asked if they found everything at the store that she lifts it up and finds out that the snow that once stuck to its surface has melted and started to drip onto the carpeted floor. Theo laughs at her sheepish expression before she reaches for her bedazzled cane (courtesy of Anna) and tells them to follow her to the kitchen. 

"Where's Louie, though?" Anna asks, "I found this Beethoven CD the other day and I wanted to give it to him."

Theo stops and reaches for her hand in a soothing gesture that feels misplaced. "He's in the hospital, honey."

"What? Why?"

"Something to do with the lungs," she murmurs.

"Is it pneumonia?" Elsa asks, instinctively opening up her hand for Anna to hold.

"That sounds about right, hon."

They enter the kitchen, a space separate from the main area where the meals are cooked. It is cozy and impeccable, yet Anna barely pays attention to any of this.

"Is he going to be okay?"

As Theo reaches the counter, she lets out a sigh. "There is always hope," she tells them, but in the tone of her voice many things have gone unsaid.

The girls go silent. For several seconds the only sound that can be heard is the rustling of the plastic bag as Theo takes out its contents—black tea; cinnamon sticks; a squeezable honey bear; two lemons. The CD suddenly feels like an anchor inside Anna's bag while a tinge of sadness overcomes her. For a moment she's unsure of how to act, but Elsa is standing right there with her, and when she drapes an arm over her shoulders to pull her closer, Anna senses the quiet comfort granted by her presence.

When everything is out of the bag, Theo turns to them with a slightly sassy look. "Life is life, my loves," she says, "But mourning that knucklehead right now won't do nobody any good. He's still alive and kicking... Deaf, but kicking."

Her words are only mildly appeasing but the girls accept it with a small nod of their heads. He'll be okay, Anna thinks, in no time he'll be back to his stereo and his CDs, and he'll get to listen to his music with his old ear horn and hold his great grandson, too.

"Okay now," Theo says, "This recipe is so simple a monkey could do it but y'all better pay attention cause this soothes a cold better than any medicine you'll find at the pharmacy... No offense, doc."

Elsa grins. "None taken."

"I didn't know you guys could use the kitchen," Anna says as she watches her pour tap water in an electric kettle. She wants to help out and get handsy with the ingredients, but knowing herself and the fact that she has no idea what a hot toddy even is, it's probably best to stand by and watch.

"Limited access, sugar. Can't exactly cook a Thanksgiving meal but we can brew us some tea and Serge can hide his cookies in here." She then asks Elsa to cut the lemons and squeeze their juice into a glass. Upon seeing Anna pout, she gives a close-mouthed, hearty laugh. "You'll be our tester. That's the most important part."

Anna is content with that.

"Do you like cooking?" Elsa asks.

"I used to love it, but when you only have yourself to cook for, it loses its charm."

"That's what I always tell Elsa but she still asks what I've cooked myself for dinner and breakfast when she doesn't spend the night."

Elsa arches an eyebrow. "Can you blame me? You eat instant noodles for dinner."

She sticks her tongue out.

From the other side of Elsa, Theo laughs again while she pulls three ceramic cups out of the pantry. The cane Anna came to bedazzle one afternoon while Elsa was away stands unused in the corner. Her coral skirt sways to and fro and in her slow, calculated movements the kitchen becomes hers. The sight transports Anna to an alternative universe, where Theo has heaps of grandkids running around the room, asking for their grandma to make them something to eat. The house is warm from the golden light of a summer afternoon and Theo is back in the South surrounded by her family.

"Theo, do you ever wish you'd had kids?"

"I almost did, sugar, back when I was married. But I'm not sure I would'a made a great mom—could you pass me the whiskey, hon?"

"I beg to differ," Elsa says, passing over the small bottle and glancing back at the door as she does it. She's probably making sure no one comes in and finds an elder pouring whiskey in their teas.

"But why? You're like, super motherly with us."

"I was a different woman in my thirties." Theo begins adding two teaspoons of honey and two of lemon juice to every cup as she says this before she asks Anna to stir them, the liquid soon turning a rich, warm color and its scent opening up Anna's nostrils like she's just snorted menthol powder.

"Define different."

"I was too focused on my career and the success I wanted for myself." She adds a stick of cinnamon on each cup, lost somehow on the banality of the action before she says as an afterthought: "Some people ain't cut out to be a parent."

The thought of her parents soon crosses her mind but Anna does her best to shove it aside. It isn't much of a cheerful thought that one; not with the way she's been making up excuses not to have them come here; and not with the way she knows, deep down, that they haven't been trying hard enough in the first place.

"Would you have done anything differently back then?" Elsa asks.

"A lot of things," Theo says, "When you get to be my age you'll inevitably live with regrets but I'm learnin' to accept them by writing about them."

"Are you writing a book?" Anna asks with sudden fascination.

Theo laughs. "Not a book, honey, just some old-school journalin'." She suddenly takes hold of her hand and squeezes, her brown eyes gentle and serene. "One day I'll leave that journal to you. Maybe then, it can go out into the world."

Anna hugs her just because she can. She sees Elsa give her a smile from where she stands behind Theo before taking a step back and accepting the cup of hot toddy the elder hands over. 

"Final verdict," she says, "But blow on it first cause it's hot."

Anna makes a face. She knows it's hot ( _has that stopped you before?_ ) but she listens anyway and blows.

"She's always scalding her tongue," Elsa tells Theo, and really who needs an enemy when you have a loving girlfriend willing to call you out like this?

The tea: it is hot, but not scalding, and Anna tastes the honey before she savors the hint of whiskey combined with the zesty taste of the lemon and the aromatic flavor of the cinnamon. She suddenly wishes she had a cold to test the healing properties of this hot toddy drink, but alas, she is in perfect health.

She gives Elsa and Theo the thumbs up, too busy slurping to speak. Her girlfriend tries it next and her reaction is a similar one without the slurping. In the end, they make their way back to the drawing room and occupy the same space by the window that they always have. Anna feels the absence of Louie in the room like an indentation on her mood, even as she tries her best to hold on to the lighthearted nature of this snowy afternoon. Life is life, she thinks as she sighs and sits down on the chair. It is a downer and a wonder and everything in between, and what else is there for her to do other than accept the inevitability that it comes with a beginning and an end?

Theo settles in her own chair and gets comfy in it before she speaks. "Tell me everything about London, honey. And don't spare any details, not even the medical mumbo jumbo you think I won't understand."

"Well..." Elsa glances at her with a smile before she begins to talk about London with a subtle look of nostalgia in her eyes. Meanwhile, Anna goes on sipping her hot toddy in silence. The soothing sound of Elsa's voice quietens her mind, and today she is more than happy to sit back and listen.

* * *

March: with its shortened days and springtime forcing its presence through the bitter, cold days of winter.

The last couple of months have passed her by in a blur, as if she had done nothing more than act as a spectator of her own life; going along with it; not time for a stop. She has gone to work, Monday through Friday, a nine-to-five-sometimes-six. But regardless of what her friends might say, and what she may see in the quiet concern behind Elsa's eyes, there is a certain excitement in the job she does with Hans. It is trying at times, and sometimes demanding, but somewhere in the back of her mind Anna always reminds herself that this will all pay off in the future. Her parents may not have taught her how to ride the bike, or how to work through the painful, scarring years of algebra, or that she should separate her clothes when it comes to laundry, or that coffee isn't a breakfast meal, but they did teach her that hard work pays off. And deep down, as much as she finds it hard to admit, she still hopes that one day they will be proud of what she's accomplished.

And so it is, another day of hard work. Another late afternoon that finds Anna in the building's lobby, rearranging her scarf and donning a beanie so that she can step out into cold and head home.

"There's a party at the Ace Hotel tonight," Hans says as he buttons up his coat. "Wanna come?"

Anna doesn't think too much about this. It might be Friday but she is tired, hungry and all she wants to do is nothing.

So she smiles. "Maybe another time."

"Are you sure? They might have a chocolate fountain," he teases, "You can even bring your girlfriend if you want."

"She's doing rotations tonight."

He tsks. "That's a shame. It would have been nice chatting with her this time."

Anna says nothing in response; she feels like cringing.

The phone in his hands chimes with a notification and Hans glances at it before he turns to her with a charming smile. "Last chance," he singsongs.

She laughs out of politeness. "It's been a long week, I don't know how you still have the energy to party."

"The secret wonders of whiskey and good conversation," he smirks.

"If she doesn't want to go, she doesn't want to go, Zimmerman."

Anna turns around to find Lauren walking towards them, the sound of her high heels echoing against the walls of the lobby. She is fixing the lapels of her faux fur coat, lightly tousling her wavy, blonde hair in the process.

"Not all of us can enjoy parties as much as you do," she says once she's closer.

"Maybe that's the problem."

Lauren rolls her eyes. "Stop taunting her and get out of here," she jests, "And make sure you don't come back on Monday with a hangover."

Hans chuckles. He leaves the building after giving them a playful bow while Anna is left wondering if her boss is an alcoholic.

"Has he really come to work hungover?" She asks before she can stop herself.

"Never," Lauren says, "But a reminder never hurt anyone."

"That... makes sense."

Anna follows her out of the building and for some reason, when Lauren lingers, so does she.

"Hans is one of my best agents. He's ambitious and he has grit, and he always knows his way around a deal. That's why I brought him to New York."

"Lucky me," she murmurs absentmindedly.

Lauren stares at her for several seconds and under the scrutiny of her clear blue eyes Anna can feel herself blush. Standing next to her she feels inadequate all of the sudden; this woman with her fur coat and her preeminent aura and those heels that look a little too painful to tread on.

She wonders if she will ever be as distinguished as her.

"You're certainly lucky to be working under his wing," Lauren states, "That is, if your dream is to become an agent."

Anna frowns before she watches a black car pull over before them. She wishes she could ask for clarification, but the moment is gone almost as fast as it came and the chauffeur has already stepped off the car to open the door for Lauren.

"No need to rush, sweetheart, I'm already late."

"Where are you going?" Anna asks.

"A party," she says, a smile spreading across her face. "Have a good night, Anna."

With that, she steps inside the car and the door closes behind her, leaving Anna standing on the sidewalk, briefly observing her own reflection on the tinted window of the back seat.

She makes her way home with uncharacteristic quietness, without reading a single page of her book on the train, nor looking around at the curious wonders of New York City's streets. When she enters her apartment she does so in a strange state of despondency, discarding her shoes without looking where they land. The sound of a siren wafts in through the closed window as Anna pads her way over to her desk. She intends to take her journal with her but pauses when she catches sight of the Beethoven CD she'd bought for Louie all those weeks ago. It saddens her now. He did not make it.

She goes to sit on the bed without changing into anything more comfortable, the journal still in her hands. It is a Moleskine; deep green. Kristoff had given it to her for her birthday because he'd said she needed to write in style. Inside, it is blank except for the first few pages. She was supposed to fill it with entries, with prompts; with loose ideas that could make up a whole story. But instead it is full of empty, mocking space. And on the last entry, a taunting line:

_What inspires me?_

Anna reads it more than once, her index finger tracing over its answer like a gesture of melancholy. She reaches for the pen that she leaves on her nightstand before staring at the page. Nothing comes.

Love, she thinks. _Elsa_. She pictures Elsa doing rotations at the hospital right now, tired, but determined. She thinks of her and feels nothing but an overwhelming amount of love. Yet, not a single word comes.

_What am I missing?_ She writes instead. _How do I search for something I can't even recognize in myself?_

Anna doesn't want to be a literary agent. She wants to be a writer. But the mere thought of it draws such a deep frustration out of her that she decides to put her journal down instead of chucking it across the room. She then covers her face and rubs the back of her eyelids until it stings. A sigh leaves her lips and the air, all of the sudden, feels a dozen times heavier.

She lies down only to curl up, her arms wrapping themselves around her knees. In a few hours Elsa will be here and maybe Anna will try to make dinner. She will find comfort in her, like she always has, and all of this will become nothing but a fleeting moment of sadness in the grand scheme of things.

Outside, it has started to snow again.


	28. Nightmares and broken dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the love, guys. i swear every time i get a comment or a message from any of you i get stupidly happy. if there are any sort of errors i apologize in advance—i edited this with a scattered mind. btw there's a bit of an important A/N at the end so, yeah... kudos to my bb always and forever.
> 
> oh and a bit of an fyi: USMLE (United States Medical Licensing Examination) Step 2 CK is an exam usually taken on the fourth year of med school to assess medical knowledge, skills, etc.

The clouds are beginning to gather this evening like creeping smoke across the sky. They are dark, almost lugubrious, and Elsa is shaken by a thunderous lightning before she sees it strike the road in front of them.

From inside the car, she watches the leafless trees rushing by as if it were a slow moving scene, their shapes looking like black tendrils distorted by the drops of rain that have yet to trickle down the cold surface of the window. She can hear the downpour rattling loudly against the roof. The sound is deafening, and she feels frightened. 

Her father is driving, her mother is sitting in the passenger's seat, and she, in the back, is trapped by a belt that is making it hard for her to breathe—like a hand around her neck. The rain continues to pour down as the road begins to thin in front of them, causing Elsa to open her mouth out before she catches her father's eyes. He is turning his head to look at her, smiling, saying something she cannot hear. His voice is muted, drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the rain that goes on and on and on. She tries to tell him to look back at the road, but nothing comes out of her mouth except for a muffled scream that falls inward like a stone in a well as the belt continues to put an unbearable pressure on her chest and her neck. She is flaying her arms around even if she can't see them. Desperation is rising up in her throat like bile, bitter and full of terror. Her father is still looking at her, and Elsa can't do anything but stare into his eyes. They are soft and kind, just like the last time she got to see them.

She knows what's about to happen, and somewhere deep inside the hazy consciousness of this nightmare Elsa is trying to wake up. She feels her chest constricting into itself, rising and falling faster each time she heaves; it is her own attempt at screaming for help.But the car keeps rushing forward and her father is still staring at her with a smile that is now plastered—nowhere near comforting anymore—until she sees her mother turn around as well and Elsa catches the headlights of a truck whose terrifying impact jolts her awake.

To darkness.

"Baby."

Her heart is beating wildly inside her chest and her mind is hazy as it stubbornly holds onto the last vivid remnants of her nightmare.

"Elsa."

Anna is right there with her, gently rubbing her arm. Elsa opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out except for a weary exhale. Her forehead is damp; so is her back. Her chest is still rising and falling erratically in her own attempt to calm down. The nightmare is dissipating, but the emotions remain. She can feel their vicious grip as they bubble up in her chest, tightening around her throat and forcing a choke out before she breaks.

Anna holds her as she cries. She runs a hand through her hair, whispers small words of comfort in her ear. The tears are stubborn in their release, but Elsa feels the sorrow nonetheless. She has no control; she knows it after all these years. All she can do is allow this moment to wash over her before letting it go.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles when she feels like she can breathe again.

"Don't apologize, baby."

Elsa closes her eyes again and lets out a shaky breath. In the moments that follow she moves to rest on her side while Anna does too, hugging her from behind. They lie like that for a few minutes; the silence of the room only interrupted by the sound of passing tires over pavement and a lonely siren in the distance. She tries to focus on the way Anna's body feels against her own, warm and comforting. It feels like safety.

"You wanna talk about it?" Anna asks as softly as a breath.

"It was just... pretty much the same dream as always."

"How far did you get?"

"The truck," Elsa murmurs. It is always the same nightmare, always the same sequence. She has described it to Anna only once and the fact that she remembers makes her feel like she's not alone in this.

"I've got you."

More seconds pass before Elsa speaks again. "It's their anniversary tomorrow."

She feels the arm around her waist tighten and a feathery kiss on the space behind her ear. "I know, baby..."

Elsa goes on breathing. She inhales, and exhales, then does it again. She is trying to stay calm because if she does, the burning sensation behind her eyelids can be kept at bay. It is always hard, the days around this date. A fresh reminder of the exhausted feelings she's carried inside of her for five years. She recalls the day after their death in acute detail: how silent she became, how guarded. And boy, how Rapunzel tried to get her to talk. If only so that Elsa could let out everything going on inside her mind. But how could she? She'd always thought. How do you explain a loss like this? One day they're here, the next day they're gone, and you can no longer function because grief has taken over your body like poison through your veins.

She'd withdrawn into herself until her cousin and the rest of the family learned that this was her way of coping. For grief is as unique as the person that carries it on their shoulders, and the way Elsa dealt with grief was through silence. A silence that was once reticent and is now nothing more than solemn contemplation. Because Anna is here, transforming everything she touches in her heart—from darkness to light—patient and willing to wait. She is here, holding her, knowing that this is exactly what Elsa needs to get through the night.

They don't speak much at all, and for a while the only thing Elsa manages to focus on is Anna's breathing. Slow and rhythmic; in tune with her heartbeat. There are no more nightmares but neither is there enough rest. Only memories. A myriad of them: the first time her dad took her to his job, for example. He'd let her wear a safety helmet—so large for her that it covered her eyes—even though they were nowhere near the construction site. A skeleton, he'd called it. Like a body.

She then goes through the memory of her mother picking her up from summer camp—the last time she ever attended at all—, and the way she'd caught Elsa's eye after she'd said goodbye to the only friend she'd made there. The first girl she ever liked as more than just a friend. Her mother had looked at her, and for a frightening second it seemed as though she knew (she must have—mothers always know), before she'd smiled, touched her cheek and said: "I'm sure you'll stay in touch, honey."

She recalls the first and only time she ever caught her parents argue even if, still now, she cannot remember the reason. She was seven, searching for an illicit ice cream sandwich hidden inside the freezer when the voices of her parents wafted in from the living room. They were speaking with stern hushed voices, frustrated with each other until they found her standing by the door, ice cream sandwich and all. Her father had gotten on one knee, beckoned her closer.

"Sometimes couples disagree on things," he'd said.

"Even when they love each other?" Elsa asked.

"Even when they love each other."

The morning after is a quiet one—a Tuesday. The sun is not out yet: it is 4:50 AM. Elsa has to get ready to go to the hospital, then come back home and study for her Step 2 exam (if she makes it back on time at all). Rinse and repeat, she'd told Anna as a joke just last week. Her girlfriend hadn't laughed. "Did you eat at all today?" she'd asked instead.

"Yes... Oatmeal in the morning, tea and a sandwich at noon."

Anna had stared. Her brow deepening into a frown, grumpy and concerned. "And you say my eating habits are bad..."

Today, it is almost the same. She wakes up to the mellow tune of her alarm before she dismisses it. The night prior provided very few hours of sleep and Elsa starts to feel the effects as soon as she opens her eyes. Right next to her Anna is stirring, slowly propping herself on her elbows: copper hair with a mind of its own and eyes opened to a slit. She smiles though, which makes Elsa smile as well even if she can't see it.

"Go back to sleep, baby," Elsa says. Her voice is nothing but a whisper.

"Wait," Anna mumbles, throwing an arm over her torso to prevent her from leaving the bed just yet. "How are you feeling?"

"Sleepy and sad," she says with crude honesty, "but I think I can get through the day just fine." A few extra minutes never hurt anybody, she figures, so she lies back down and allows herself this moment. The bed is warm and Anna's body is warmer, and maybe for just a little while she can pretend like she'll be staying under the covers at least until the sun comes out.

"I'd try to convince you to skip today but I know you won't do that."

"You know me too well."

Anna hums. "It's as obvious as two after one," she says—slurs, almost. "But seriously, will you at least text me or call me if you need me?"

"You have work today."

"So? I can make any excuse. I'll even sprain something and send myself to the hospital if I have to go see you."

Elsa laughs freely. It is so dark in the room it might as well be the middle of the night, she is far from well-rested, and the anniversary of her parents' death looms over her like an imminent storm. Yet, Anna still manages to make her laugh almost as soon as she wakes up.

"Please don't do anything crazy," she says.

"It's like you don't know me."

She smiles before letting out a sigh through her nose. Her eyelids are heavy. They move up and down slowly, until she catches herself closing them for longer than a wink, and stirs. "I really have to get up now."

"I know," Anna breathes. She connects her lips to the skin of her forehead. It is a kiss in a way, one that knows not how to end.

Elsa leaves the bed reluctantly, but not without pecking Anna on the lips and saying, "I love you."

The mundanity of getting ready is a necessary distraction. She showers quickly and let's her hair air dry as she does everything else. In the kitchen, she makes herself some toast; a black tea (she has yet to shake off the habit despite her cousin and Anna's endless teasing); a banana for protein; an apple for lunch. Back in her bedroom, the sky as viewed from the window is turning a lighter indigo blue. The first signs of sunrise draw nigh while she packs a couple of books, a notepad and a bottle of water. All of it done quietly even though she doesn't have to—Anna sleeps like a log.

Elsa looks at her girlfriend one last time with an expression full of yearning. Her eyes are achy, from tears or lack of sleep, but most likely both. She closes the door behind her and, quiet still, crosses the living room and leaves the apartment. Outside, the fresh, cool air brought by dawn serves to clear her mind. There is people already on the sidewalk, cars passing by on the streets. The city is coming back to life. It is 5:47 AM.

Rinse and repeat.

At 6:28 AM Elsa arrives at the hospital adjacent to Columbia's Medical Center. She shows her ID to the receptionist, makes her way to the third floor. Inside the locker room she does her hair up in a neat bun, dons a clean, white coat and washes her hands thoroughly before getting to work.

Pre-rounds go first so she meets with Peter, one of the senior residents of her medical team. His face often reminds her of Eugene's—the clean-shaven version—but Peter isn't goofy or sarcastic; he is serious and polite, and his tie is never out of place, and he cracks a smile usually twice a day: when he greets her in the mornings and when they say goodbye at the end of the day.

"Ready?" he asks just before meeting with their first patient.

_Absolutely not._

"Ready," Elsa says.

This morning is a long one, and every chance it gets, her mind goes elsewhere. She thinks of her parents: abstract images blending in with one another, making up distorted series of memories that have no beginning and no end. Their first patient is a forty-year-old woman. She was diagnosed with asthma six months ago and Elsa asks her what she was prescribed to keep it under control. "Albuterol," the woman says, reading off from her doctor's note, "And something else I can't remember."

"Budesonide," Elsa prompts.

The woman nods, and her smile reminds her of her mother's, although Elsa is sure she's just imagining things.

She thinks of Anna as well, of how much she wishes she could have stayed in bed that morning. She goes through delusional daydreams, like having a picnic in Central Park now that the weather's nice, or going on a trip just the two of them. She'll ditch her responsibilities at the hospital and Anna can ditch Hans. No cellphones allowed. The second patient is a woman as well, this time twenty-five years old. She was admitted to the hospital because of fever, dizziness and shaking, and has been on the same medications for a year. Elsa goes over the laboratory results with Peter but needs to rub her eyes for a few seconds because she cannot focus.

"Check her pulse again," he tells her, and Elsa does as he's asked.

The heartbeat of a stranger through the stethoscope grounds her to reality once more.

On days when their lunch breaks overlap, she'll spend them with Sasha. They'll catch up, talk about anything that isn't related to medicine, or to the hospital and the patients it looks after. Although sometimes, on the hardest of days when a patient has to be sent to the OR or a case has hit too close to home, it will slip out into the conversation; like water through the cracks. However, today Elsa sits by herself, eating a sandwich from the cafeteria and the apple she's brought from home, holding up a book she can't read past the first page. Printed words on paper is all she sees.

The rest of the day passes her by as though in a blur, indiscernible and hazy. Nothing sticks except for the end of it, in which she sits on a bench inside the locker room, giving herself the time to be surrounded by silence—if only just for a little while. She's trying to decide what to do now, as if there was more than just one option. She wonders if she should text Anna, ask if she wants her to come over to her place tonight. It has been like this since Elsa started rotations back in January and by now nights have become her favorite part of the day.

She ends up calling Anna when she leaves the building. It is dark outside already, the bright lights of the hospital behind her acting out as a beacon—of hope or apprehension, sometimes she can't decide. Anna tells her to go home, that she will see her there, and Elsa agrees because she doesn't have it in her to insist on a different option. Inside the train she doesn't pull out a book to read, and after the fourth stop, she starts to nod off.

She makes it home some time past 7 PM. Anna is already there, and Elsa smiles and nearly collapses in her arms when she stands up from the couch to hug her. Rapunzel makes dinner, which isn't as disastrous anymore because she says she's been watching video tutorials so that she can feed her cousin better meals. And isn't Elsa proud of her?

"I sure am," she says, almost laughing but not there just yet.

And when Elsa has eaten and feels settled— _grounded_ —once more at home, she goes to her room, walks past her bed and sits at her desk.

"What are you doing?" Anna asks from where she stands by the door.

"I can still squeeze in some time to study."

"Like hell you are," she says, already crossing the room. She grabs Elsa's hands and pulls her gently off the chair. "You can afford a night off."

Again, Elsa doesn't have it in her to protest. So she allows herself what she's been wanting all along: to be back in bed, in Anna's arms. They talk for a while in hushed tones that match the energy of the room, but mostly, Elsa listens. She listens to the way Anna's voice resounds differently when she has her ear pressed against her chest; and to the sound of her heartbeat becoming apparent in the pauses that she takes.

Elsa listens with a gentle smile until she falls asleep. Because the good thing about being exhausted is that she has no energy to be sad.

* * *

Weekends during ward rotations are practically non-existent. Saturdays are usually spent at the hospital and Sundays are spent recuperating the sanity lost throughout the week. Or studying. 

For Elsa, it is a little bit of both. 

Anna is away on another trip with Hans. It is her second one; this time to Chicago. She's been gone since Friday morning and should be back by this evening. Which means that Elsa has no worthy excuse for doing something that isn't studying. Rapunzel is out with Eugene, so not even her cousin is here to provide distraction in the form of clutter in the kitchen or pitapatting back and forth in the living room. It makes the silence in the apartment unusually wearing; sleep-inducing.

She knows that studying in the sofa is a questionable decision. _The most optimal and efficient way to study is not by slouching in a comfy couch with a comfy pillow and a comfy blanket._ That sounds like a teacher's voice. Maybe Elsa's starting to go crazy; hearing voices. A few nights of crappy sleep could do that to anyone (I'm gonna call her Sally) but maybe her subconsciousness had planned this all along. She doesn't feel like she's fully recuperated from that nightmare-laden Tuesday a few days ago. Like a domino effect. She feels like she could sleep until tomorrow.

Her six-hundred-page Step 2 guidebook sits on the coffee table—right next to a mug half empty with cold, black tea—open but almost forgotten. Elsa is going through sample questions, scribbling down notes on a pad that look nothing like her usual, neat handwriting.

_A 32-year-old woman with type 1 diabetes mellitus has had progressive renal failure over the past 2 years. She has not yet started dialysis. Examination shows no abnormalities. Her hemoglobin concentration..._

Elsa throws her head back. "Good _God_ ," she groans.

Maybe she could text Anna, see what she's up to. But Elsa knows what she's up to because Anna already told her. She's attending some conference with Hans—Hansel, her cousin calls him. Or John. Anything that isn't his name. It'd started off as a joke and now she can't stop. Not that Elsa really minds anyway.

She looks down at the notepad and realizes that she's started doodling all over the yellow, ruled page. There's a few shapes that look like stars, a few hearts; the letter A over and over.

She huffs out a sigh. What if she'd said yes when Anna had asked?

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" she'd said back on Thursday evening.

Elsa had stopped midway through folding one of Anna's shirts. It was one of her favorites: a violet, short-sleeved polo with a drawn white cat flipping the bird as it poked out of its tiny front pocket. Elsa had no idea why she'd chosen to take that shirt. It didn't exactly scream professionalism.

"You wouldn't be able to stay even if I wanted you to," she'd replied. Not out of spite. It was the truth.

"I can always try."

"It's just a weekend, baby," she insisted, standing up to hook her arms around her waist. "I'll be okay."

_Yeah, right._ If okay means doodling on a notepad, drinking hot-gone-cold tea, hearing voices, and pretending like she's studying for a nine-hour-long exam for almost three hours.

Her cellphone buzzes twice on the coffee table and Elsa reaches for it a little too desperately. She thinks it is Anna, because who else texts her at random? But it isn't. It is Kristoff.

_Hey blondie,_ the text reads.

She stares at the message with bewilderment. _Hi,_ she replies, then reconsiders. _How are you?_ she adds.

Two texts come almost simultaneously. _Doing okay_ and: _What r u up to?_

Elsa looks down at her notes/doodles and then at her behemoth of a guidebook. _Nothing,_ she types (it isn't even a lie), but that sounds too short and formal so she deletes it. _Not much, just chilling on the couch._ Yes, much better.

It isn't until after she's pressed send that Elsa notices she did not reciprocate the question, but Kristoff doesn't seem to take it to heart because he's already moved on: _Did u eat already? I was thinking about getting lunch in case u wanna join me._

This whole thing is bizarre, she thinks. For a moment Elsa has to rummage through her memories in order to conjure up the last time she and Kristoff hung out by themselves but comes up empty because, she realizes, they have never spent time alone. It isn't that she's never wanted to, it is just that the occasion has never arisen. _This could be the first time._ It's Anna's voice now, clear and cheerful. She's not going crazy, but she figures that going out for lunch is much better than taking an impromptu nap and messing with her sleep schedule even more. She could even take a break from her couch musings while she's at it.

_That sounds lovely,_ she types, _What sort of place did you have in mind?_

Elsa reads her message once more after sending it and feels like laughing and cringing at the same time. "You text like a sixty-year-old college professor," Rapunzel had said once.

Maybe she did.

They end up meeting an hour and a half later outside of Chelsea Market. It has been weeks since she last saw Kristoff—it happened somewhere near the end of January, when she was barely getting started with rotations and she'd had the brilliant yet nearly disastrous idea of making dinner for everyone at their apartment—but Elsa doesn't realize this until he's already got his arms around her. And what a good idea this was, getting off the couch.

Inside, it is busy as ever. What was once a factory complex is now a market bustling with activity. Stationary shops stand amidst handcrafted jewelry, artisan coffee and imported candles. And all around: a kaleidoscope of international cuisines. Asian, Italian, French, German. The food is lavish here, almost sinful, but neither Kristoff nor Elsa have a hard time choosing what to eat.

They sit at the bar of a ramen shop. Kristoff asks her if she wants a beer and when she declines, he opts for a coke instead. Elsa finds the decision a bit curious but when he sees the expression on her face all he does is shrug.

"How's the studying going?" he asks after they've placed their orders.

"Not too bad," she says, "but I think I needed a break today. It's been a long week."

Kristoff nods, takes a sip from his coke. "Anna tells me you've been spending a lot of hours at the hospital."

"Just the usual, honestly. I'm on wards right now so the hours are longer because everything is so unpredictable. Sometimes I leave at five, other times I'll leave as late as nine."

"It has to be worth it though, right?"

"For the most part it is."

"What about the other part?"

Elsa cracks a smile. "Sometimes it's hard feeling like I have no time for myself," she tells him, "Or anyone for that matter. So I have to constantly remind myself why it is that I started in the first place."

There is curiosity behind Kristoff's eyes that does not manifest itself into his words. "I don't know how you guys do it. I would probably cry at the first sight of blood."

"You see blood all the time in those video games you play."

Kristoff makes a show of flexing his biceps. "You see these guns?" he says, "They're all just for show."

She laughs, drawing a side smile out of him. It is easier after this—to simply talk and have a good time. And as they eat from their ramen bowls and Elsa finally starts to let go of some of the pressure; the studying; the seemingly endless hours of work; she is reminded once again of why he and Anna are so close. He is a simple guy, noble and trustworthy, to the point that Elsa doesn't feel the need to maintain her guard at all times. Which makes her wonder, where does the line rest between friendship and acquaintanceship, and how blurry can it be? Do people just say, I'm going to call you my friend now, and decide that they mean it? How does one know they are officially friends with somebody else? How did Elsa know with Sasha?

Suddenly, Kristoff bumps his chest with his fist and burps without covering his mouth.

Elsa tilts her head in amusement. _Maybe this is it._

They soon leave the ramen shop and Chelsea Market altogether. It is warm outside but not smoldering—a Spring afternoon in the city. The cool breeze coming from the river sneaks through the streets and alleys closest to the Hudson; tempting, like a calling. They make their way to the piers without so much as a plan, both with the intention of walking off the food they've just had. Over in Chicago, Anna is on her way to the airport. She's sent a text to Elsa, all exclamation marks and smiley faces, and Elsa can't help but smile widely because it might have only been two full days and a handful of hours, but she's missed her.

She figures she always will, regardless of time.

"Is that Anna?" Kristoff asks.

Elsa nods. "She's on her way to the airport."

"Tell her to make sure she bought me a keychain. I can't welcome her back in here without my keychain."

She shakes her head but writes the message anyway. The response comes almost immediately: _Tell him I got the pink bedazzled heart he wanted._

Kristoff laughs hard at this when she shows it to him but what she—and probably Anna—don't know is that he'll attach it to his keys as soon as she gives it to him.

They walk until they reach Pier 45. Dozens of people are resting on the lawn, basking in the sun. The lonely ones are reading books, looking at their phones; quality time with themselves in this hustling city that never seems to leave them alone. The ones in groups are talking—discussing life and work and family—, sipping sparkling water and wine coolers, because all seems legal and fair on a Sunday at the park. A shirtless man is doing yoga on a mat, droplets of sweat stuck to his reddened back. A girl is walking her bike, a professional camera hanging from her neck. In the distance: the Freedom Tower reaching up to the blue, cloudless sky.

They stop at the rail of the pier before leaning on it. The river flows gently under the sun, its ripples glistening like crystals, and everything around her suddenly makes Elsa wish that Anna was right here with them. She misses her— _yearns_ for her—and it hits her in that moment that she has missed her for longer than just two days and a handful of hours.

"You know, I was thinking," Kristoff suddenly says, "Do you think Anna is overworking herself?" 

_Aren't we all_ , Elsa thinks wearily, but she knows what Kristoff means. Yet, she chooses to remain silent. Something about discussing Anna when she isn't present doesn't sit well with her.

"You do think so, don't you?"

"Yes..."

"Maybe we should do an intervention."

She raises an eyebrow. "I don't think she'd appreciate that. Besides, she says it's good for her career." 

And Elsa believes it. She's choosing to believe, above anything else, that one day all of this will be worth it.

"But she's not writing," Kristoff points out.

"No," she says lowly, "she's not."

Elsa thinks about this even as they continue to talk. Even as they make their way back into the city; while Kristoff hugs her goodbye and says that this was nice, that they should do it more often—all of them, or just the two of them—and Elsa catches a tinge of sadness in his eyes. She thinks about this as she makes her way back home. As she waves at Marta who is sweeping the dust out of the bodega, and as she goes up the stairs to the second floor.

She finds Rapunzel sprawled on the couch watching TV before she greets her with a smile and very few words. She sits on the arm of the couch, listens to her cousin talk for a few minutes. Part of her wants to stay in the living room and be distracted for the rest of the day but she feels like she can't afford that any longer. So she declines Rapunzel's invitation to sit and watch something with her, promising that next time she will. She'll even let her choose, she says as she gathers the books she's left on the coffee table and the notepad that has an embarrassing amount of hearts scribbled on it.

She carries everything to her bed instead of her desk— _efficient studying is not aided by sitting on your bed_. There it is, Sally the teacher again. But Sally can suck it. She sits on it, under the covers just out of spite. Maybe she can get through a few more pages of the guidebook before calling it a day. Maybe then Anna will let her know she's here.

But in the end, Sally is right, because Elsa ends up falling asleep some time after she's read everything about hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. She dreams for a while; of broken glass on pavement glittering like sunlight on a flowing river; and of Anna, standing inside of an airport, waving at her goodbye for what feels like forever.

Elsa wakes up not knowing how much time has passed, to a scent that is familiar and a pair of soft lips on her forehead. The lamp by her side is on now. Outside, it is nighttime. She registers the notepad being pulled out from under her hands and stirs further when she feels Anna sitting on the edge of the bed. There is another kiss on her forehead and one more on her lips. With her eyes half closed, she smiles.

"Hi."

"Hi, sweetheart," Anna says, "Keep sleeping. It's late."

"I missed you."

She smiles tenderly. "I missed you, too."

The last thing Elsa registers is the shirt Anna is wearing: the violet polo one with the white cat flipping the bird from where it hides inside its front pocket. It is one of her favorites.

* * *

Another two weeks pass before Elsa is able to take a real breather. Now that inpatient rotations are over so are the odd, grueling hours spent in the hospital. This means no more rising up before the sun. No more express naps in the train, or speed-lunches before a lecture, or coming home only to bury her nose in a book. No more feeling like she's on autopilot—if only temporarily. In the meantime, she gets to do clinic rotations, leaving her weekends free to spend more time with Anna.

It feels glorious, really. A small joy in life.

They've come to Reggio—have walked, in fact, all the way from Anna's apartment to the café. It had been Anna's idea all along and Elsa had eagerly agreed (if she had proposed bungee-jumping she probably would have said yes, too). All she wanted was to spend time with her, wherever and however that was. Because the biggest constant in her life right now had been cemented in the comfort of Anna—unwavering, very much like her support—on nights and early mornings, and brief pauses in between. Present in the silent moments they shared in bed, where no words were needed to express something as inherent as love. Present in the simple act of listening. And present, too, in Elsa's idealistic hopes confined in the little notes she's often left behind, when she's thought Anna needed them the most. Something that, she has noticed, has been happening more and more these days.

This early in the afternoon Reggio is a quiet place. The hissing sound of the espresso machine is sporadic, the conversations amongst strangers nothing but a quiet backdrop. Elsa sits taking notes, studying, pushing the sounds that surround her to a place where she can hear them without having to register them. She is able to block everything out except for the girl sitting across from her.

"I hate writing..."

She looks up, arching an eyebrow. "No you don't."

Anna slouches. Her journal sits on the table, open but blank. "No, I don't. But I also really do."

"And how does that work exactly?"

"I love the action itself. But I hate what it takes to get there."

Elsa observes her for a moment; the disheartened look on her face. It makes her close her own book and set it to the side.

"Talk to me, baby."

"About what?"

"About whatever's on your mind."

Anna adverts her eyes. It is so unlike her, Elsa thinks, to be this guarded.

"It's like I can't write anymore..."

"What do you mean by that?"

The girl is fiddling with her pen—an increasingly habitual action. "I mean just that," she says. "I used to be able to create stuff. Now it just feels as if I didn't know how. Like a switch has been turned off inside my mind or something."

"Maybe you're just going through a block," she suggests.

"No, this is different... I can feel it."

Elsa nibbles at her lower lip. It has been so long since she's seen Anna like this. So defeated; so withdrawn. "Is there something I can do?"

"No," she responds, then begins to shake her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so cold."

"No, it's not that. I just wish there was something I could do to help you get it back, or to make you feel inspired again. I hate seeing you like this."

Anna shrugs despondently before saying, "Imagine if creativity could be passed from person to person via telepathy."

Elsa can tell this is an attempt to lighten the mood, but the laugh that Anna lets out is hollow, and she can only respond with a smile. _If only I could,_ she thinks, _I would give you the entire world._

"We could always give it a try," she jokes.

Anna cracks a grin and right there, in that small gesture, is an image of her usual self that makes Elsa submerge herself deep into a cold feeling of nostalgia. As if the sight were nothing more than a memory already.

All of the sudden, Elsa stands up with resolution. She takes one last sip of her already cold tea and begins to gather her books before putting them back in her bag. Anna remains sitting on the chair, looking at her with curiosity and a small, bemused smile.

"What are you doing?"

" _We_ are going to get some fresh air, my love."

"But you have to study."

"Studying is for losers," she says.

The sound of Anna's joyful laugh makes her heart swell. Just like the first time she heard it.

"You do not mean that."

"Let me have it," Elsa grins.

They step out of Reggio and onto MacDougal Street. The crowd is always different on the weekends around here. Or maybe, Elsa thinks, it's not the people that are different, but their intentions—well-tempered, less prone to pressure. They then begin to head north, passing by NYU's School of Law. She catches Anna watching the brown-bricked building as they begin to cross the street and wonders if she misses school, if perhaps she thinks that life in college was easier than it is now.

Washington Square Park is vibrant with life, and once again Elsa finds herself thinking back to intentions. Students are not strutting back and forth trying to catch the next lecture on time. They are sitting by the fountain, eating ice cream, bathing in the sun, taking customary pictures of the Empire State Building as it stands framed by the monumental, marbled arch. People all around are occupying the benches as though out of a lazy Sunday habit. As if everyone here were taking a breather along with the two of them.

Elsa can hear the sound of a piano wafting through the air, like a tune serving as background for a scene. Surely not an intention, but a coincidence. What Elsa wanted was for Anna to take everything in just like she's doing now. For she'd said it once: she drew inspiration out of things like this. People watching is where it's at, she often said. So why not give it a go today? Perhaps Elsa couldn't give her the words she needed, nor the ability to create, nor inspiration itself. But she could always try to help her find it, no matter how long it took.

"You see that man over there?" Anna suddenly says, nodding ahead.

Elsa glances in the direction they're heading. It would be easier to know which man she's referring to if there weren't so many.

"The one with the fedora hat," she adds, almost reading her mind.

"Okay," Elsa smiles, "I see him now."

"His name is Frank Lombardi," says Anna. "He collects butterflies, likes to read Proust in the park and play Bingo every Wednesday night with his friends."

She turns back to her. "You just made all of this up, didn't you?"

"Sort of. His name really is Frank Lombardi."

"How do you know?"

Anna smiles. "He told me once."

"May I ask how that happened?"

"He comes here often and usually he just reads but sometimes he does people watching too. So once when I was still in school I sat next to him. You know, close but not close enough to freak him out. We did some small talk after that and he mentioned his name... You know how it is."

Elsa laughs. She really, _really_ doesn't.

She lets Anna guide her through the park, thinking, with an affectionate sort of amusement: Let her have it. For there is something about Anna's demeanor that makes her feel like it's necessary for her to take the lead, for her to go where she feels a calling, and for Elsa to stay by her side.

Anna eventually takes her to a bench, tugging at her hand so that she'll take a seat next to her. There is a man playing a baby grand piano not too far from them. The instrument is coated a worn black, with scratches of use on its lid and a sticker that says _This Machine Kills Fascists_ on its side. The man: he is lost in the music he is playing, his tattooed fingers moving aimlessly over the keys while his eyes close from time to time; only on certain notes; the ones he feels the most.

And Elsa, she is watching Anna. Her gaze traces over every line of her face as she goes on watching the man play, and just like many times before, it lingers on the emotion she finds behind her eyes. Expressive, even when they're not, Elsa has always known they're unable to conceal a thing. Through the canopy of the trees, sunlight filters and makes her eyes shimmer like blue with sparkles of gold. But simmering right below, Elsa finds something else. Like a distant sadness, vague and faint; one Elsa cannot yet reach. And she wonders: how many hours has she ever spent looking at Anna? Doting on those freckles and brushing the tips of her fingers across her skin. As if looking was never enough. As if she were trying to memorize the slightest of details that make up her face for fear of losing her.

Suddenly, Anna begins to smile. "If music be the food of love..."

"Shakespeare?"

Anna turns to her. In her eyes, tenderness has taken over. Her smile is spreading wider—more genuine— but somehow the sight of it only makes Elsa's heart ache. _Where are you?_ she wants to ask. _Where have you been this whole time?_

But Anna is already glancing down at her lips, leaning closer until she's sharing the same breath with her.

The helpless honesty of their kiss shakes Elsa to the core. It grounds her, reaching into the depths of her heart and dissipating the murky traces of fear that were starting to take hold of it. Her lips move against Anna's, tenderly and without a hurry. She wants her to have it all; everything Elsa has not been able to give her through neither words nor actions. And the way Anna kisses her back with as much vehemence, in the loving pressure of her lips and the gentle hand that has gone to touch her cheek, she can feel her saying: _I'm right here._

* * *

The day she gets the results back from her Step 2 exam is the day she sleeps for twelve hours straight.

She receives the score report via email and her nerves are so high-strung that she asks Anna to read them out loud for her. The relief had been instantaneous, even if Anna had said in between kisses that she'd never had a doubt. And even if Rapunzel only said _Duh_ after she'd burst into the room without knocking and almost caught them in the middle of a sex-driven celebration.

Now she wakes up well past an hour she's grown accustomed to. Sore but blissful. Well-rested—a brand new woman.

The bed is empty and cold. Her room is quiet except for the voices coming in from the kitchen through the shut door. Elsa rises slowly; lingers a little by draping an arm over the pillow Anna has taken up as her own by now, and breathes in the familiar scent she's left behind. The memory of last night makes her smile, perhaps even blush. It had been a while, she thinks, since a night like that.

Outside of the room it smells like coffee—and something else. She finds Anna and Rapunzel in the kitchen, both looking at the toaster rather suspiciously.

"What are you guys doing?" she asks, startling them both.

"Nothing—"

"There's a piece of bread stuck in the toaster."

Rapunzel looks at Anna aghast, indignant and betrayed.

Elsa walks closer. "What's your beef with toasters?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that I just have very bad luck in the kitchen?"

"Nope." She sits on one of the stools across from them before stealing a fresh strawberry out of the bowl they have placed nearby. Anna approaches her with a smile, forgetting all about the toaster and Rapunzel's accusatory eyes.

"Good morning," she says, "Did you sleep well?"

"You know I did." She smirks when her girlfriend places herself between her legs, hands gently squeezing her thighs, and lips opening up to bite into the strawberry Elsa feeds her.

"You two are so corny it makes me nauseous."

She turns to her cousin. "Don't think I haven't heard you and Eugene using baby voices with each other."

Rapunzel flips her off while Anna laughs and simultaneously tries her best to wipe the strawberry juice that is now dripping down her chin. This is the kind of morning Elsa had been needing for some time. Stress-free and without expectations; mellow and slow-moving; one where she doesn't have to worry about anything except for whether or not they will have to replace the toaster again.

Something then catches her attention: a faint vibration that she feels through the arm she has propped on the counter. The screen of Anna's phone lights up with an unread message and Elsa glances at it out of reflex, regretting it immediately.

"Your boss is texting you," she points out.

"On a Saturday?" Rapunzel asks. She's forgotten about the toaster as well—has moved on to bigger, better things.

Anna grabs her phone but doesn't unlock it just yet. "I already know what he wants."

"Which is..?"

Even though it is Rapunzel who asks this, Anna ends up looking at Elsa when she responds. "They're throwing a birthday party for Lauren."

"Lauren, the boss of your boss?"

A nod.

"How old is she?" her cousin asks as she places her elbows on the counter. "Is she a milf?"

"Rapunzel!"

" _What?_ "

"She kind of is—"

Elsa whips her head back. "Reallynow _?_ "

Anna shrugs, grinning. "Not like it matters anyway."

"You two should totally go."

"No way I'm crashing a party."

"You're not crashing it if you're invited too," Anna says.

"What? Why?"

"Why not? Hans said it's a plus one kind of thing..." she trails off after this just as her focus shifts down to her hands. "But we don't have to go at all. It's totally up to you."

Rapunzel seems to sense a shift in their conversation because she's suddenly pushing herself away from the counter. She's mumbling something about having to pee, that she'll be right back, and Can you two please not finish the strawberries without me? It isn't until the girls hear the door to the bathroom close behind her that Anna speaks again.

"We really don't have to go."

Elsa reaches for her hands in order to pull her closer again. "Were you not going to tell me about the party?"

"Well... I know how you feel about Hans."

She bites her lip. This is far from what she wanted, and exactly the reason why she'd fought so hard in London to suppress how she felt. Anna should not have to conform to the irrational opinions she has on her boss—a man whom she barely even knows. And while Hans barely shows up in their conversations anymore, Anna shouldn't have to walk on eggshells or tiptoe around certain topics to save Elsa the trouble. Which is why, she decides, something needs to change.

"Do youwant to go?"

Anna adverts her eyes for a second. "I could use a distraction," she admits.

Elsa smiles softly, bringing her hands up to her lips. "Then I'm all up for it."

As if on cue, the door to the bathroom opens again and out comes Rapunzel. " _So,_ " she says, "Are we going to Le Milf's party or what?"

* * *

"Are you sure this dress isn't too short?"

"I think you look like a snack."

Elsa smirks. "That's not what I asked."

"It means no in my language."

It is close to evening, and they are even closer to the party. Elsa keeps glancing down at the pavement of the sidewalk, mindful of the cracks, the cellar doors, the ventilation grates. Walking the streets of New York in high heels should be a sport, she thinks. An extreme one. She is wearing the powdery blue dress tonight, the one Anna said she loved because it is the dress she wore the second time they met. This time, however, she has platinum ankle strap heels on, not flats. Hazardous, no matter how much she may secretly love it.

And there is no doubt about Anna loving it, too. It's the height difference, she'd said. Because Anna had opted for a forest green blazer on top of a white blouse, matching, fitted slacks and black oxfords. No words, Elsa had when she saw her. No thoughts either. It somehow made her look forward to this party, if only because she would be walking in with Anna by her side, and even if part of her still felt a pang of apprehension. She couldn't shake off the feeling that she was an intruder joining a party where everyone had at least one thing in common—be it books, or Lauren, or money made through published words. But Elsa knew that Anna wanted this—was looking forward to it in its entirety. She could tell because of how much thought she'd put into her outfit, and how much she talked about the people Elsa would get to meet. She could tell because it had been a while since Elsa had seen her this excited about anything at all.

A breeze riffles the locks of her hair. She's gone for an updo tonight, loose but well-fixed. Something she doesn't have to actively look after throughout the night. It complimented her, made her look somewhat elegant and poised, even if Elsa had not wanted to admit that the word _impress_ had gone through her mind.

They arrive at the building where Anna works. The lobby is quiet, and so is the security guard who greets them with a smile as they head for the elevator. Inside, Anna pushes the PH button. She seems to wait until the doors close in order to place herself in front of Elsa, standing with a wider stance than usual, placing her hands on Elsa's hips. Because of the high heels and Anna's oxfords the height difference is more significant. But that doesn't seem to deflate Anna's ego. 

"You seem to be enjoying yourself quite a lot in that suit."

"You think?" she says, grinning again. "No wonder people call them power suits."

Elsa taps her forehead twice with the tip of her index finger. "Don't let it get to your head," she teases.

The girl hums and steps even closer before squeezing her hipbones in a way that makes her want to press forward and into Anna's body. Elsa grips the bar behind her when she finds herself pinned, securely and possessively. She leans closer—ignoring for a second the numbers increasing in the screen of the elevator—and lets Anna capture her lips in a searing kiss that doesn't last long enough. She feels warm when they reach the glass doors that lead to the rooftop, and it isn't because of the pleasant, late Spring weather.

In New York, height equals status. This is the first thing that goes through her mind when they step onto the rooftop already crowded with the type of people she'd expected to see. The setting is casual: wood-framed sofas with white pillows line up one of its walls. They're already occupied by men in suits—no ties, unbuttoned collars—and women who make Elsa inevitably think of the word _impress._ On the other side of the rooftop is a bar set up with two bow-tied bartenders skillfully handling bottles of liquor, cocktail shakers and pristine glasses of wine. There is music coming from somewhere, mellow—generic almost—interwoven with conversations and laughter. Overall, it is nice. A setting Anna most likely feels comfortable in. One that Elsa tries her best to assimilate in order to blend in.

They make a beeline for the bar. It's a makeshift, Elsa thinks. Because she highly doubts there is a bar permanently set up in the rooftop of an office building. But then again, what does she know? They order wine: cabernet for Elsa, pinot grigio for Anna—reds make her girlfriend sleepy.

Once the glasses of wine are in their hands there is a lull in their decision-making. Elsa is letting Anna guide her; choose for the two of them. She knows a handful of people here, knows the place itself. So Elsa smiles and nods when she suggests they walk around for a bit and see where the night takes them. All of this makes her reminisce the first time they met, except that tonight she is already and irrevocably in love.

Along the way Elsa is introduced to a few people. They're agents, mostly, while a couple of them are assistants just like Anna. They are all young, although still older than them. But the thing that she notices the most is the way Anna's demeanor shifts around them. She becomes demure, almost blatantly shy; something that doesn't ring true to her nature, but something that Elsa doesn't think is appropriate to point out under the current circumstances. What she notices, too, is the way Anna is craning her neck as though trying to spot—or avoid—someone.

"I want you to meet Lauren," Anna says all of the sudden. And how does she always do that? Answering the questions in Elsa's mind as if she could hear them out loud.

"I would help you if I knew what she looked like," she says.

"Like a milf."

Elsa fails miserably at keeping a straight face until Anna looks at her and bursts out laughing. The sound is joyful; unapologetic in a room full of people who care a little too much; and Elsa can't help but think, _There you are_.

"What?" Anna asks, still giggling.

"Nothing..."

"Tell me."

She reaches for her hand. "I just missed you, that's all."

Anna looks down with a bashful smile. "I missed you, too," she says before kissing the back of her hand.

They are distracted with each other for a while—somewhere by the edge of the rooftop, facing away from the party—until they are through with their first glass of wine and Elsa feels herself begin to loosen up. They talk about rotations and work at the agency; about Kristoff, and writing, and about how wonderful it would be if they could just pack some bags and travel all over the world. They do so as if they were catching up after being apart for a while until it hits her that, in a sense, they are. Because no matter how many nights, early mornings and scattered weekends they may have spent together for the past few months, Elsa had slowly begun to feel as though time were slipping away from them the same way sand escapes through the crevices between her fingers.

In the end, it will be this which will make the rest of the night worth it.

They end up spotting Lauren on the other side of the rooftop, near the brick parapet along the edge, and Elsa would giggle again behind her second glass of cabernet at the thought of the word _milf_ if it weren't because it's Hans (and co.) whom she's talking with.

"We don't have to go right now," Anna tells her, but Elsa is already shaking her head.

"I don't want you to feel this way every time I'm in the same room as Hans."

"I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

She regards her in silence for a prolonged moment. "You know I love you, right?"

Anna looks confused. "Yeah..?"

"So let me do this," she says, "I want to get to know this part of your life, and if that includes Hans then so be it. I promise I'll be okay." She pecks her lips for good measure and mirrors the smile that grows across Anna's face.

They come closer until Lauren't eyes fall on them. The woman gives out an expression of pleasant surprise when she sees Anna before she smiles, ignoring the rest of what's being said by the girl standing closely next to Hans. At this, he turns around as well, but Elsa misses the look on his face because she's busy trying to focus on the person they're here to see.

Fully joining the group by now, Anna wishes her a happy birthday as she steps in for a brief hug. Elsa stands by, enduring the brief but universal awkward pause that precedes being introduced.

"This is Elsa," Anna says, and under the decorative, dim lights of the rooftop Elsa could swear she can see her blush when she adds: "My girlfriend."

"Happy birthday," is the first thing she blurts out at the same time that Lauren extends the hand not holding a martini glass. It is perfectly manicured; the nails an immaculate crimson red. Her handshake is firm as she thanks Elsa and holds her gaze with an increasingly charming smile that puts her at ease.

Coming from her left is Hans. "I'm glad you two could make it."

_Easy,_ she thinks when she looks at him, _You have no reason to go ballistic._ She goes through the process of greeting him in what she hopes are decent enough manners and with a decent amount of nicety. The girl standing close by is his date—Amanda—a seemingly normal person who appears to be more into Hans than he is into her, if the way she looks at him while he barely spares a glance is anything to go by.

Lauren is... well, she's an attractive woman most likely in her mid-forties. She is the same height as Elsa in high heels, but something about the way she carries herself makes her look even taller. Impressive doesn't quite cut it. Striking and imposing are much closer to it. She effortlessly commands attention without appearing overbearing and Elsa is quick in understanding why Anna always says she strives to be a little bit more like her every time she brings her up. Hell, if confidence stuck like the flu Elsa wouldn't mind spending some time around her either.

"So what do you do, Elsa?" Lauren asks, and she thinks that this must be one of tonight's most concurred questions. _Tell me what you do and I'll decide how high up you can be._ She takes a sip of her wine, willing herself to stay focused. Anna is busy talking to Hans about something or the other. It is just her and Lauren right now, and the word _impress_ flashes through her mind again. But how do you impress somebody you barely even know?

"I'm studying medicine," she responds, "Cardiology."

Lauren raises her eyebrows. "My brother is a cardiologist, though quite frankly I still don't know how he made it. He's such a tool."

"Maybe the complexities of the human body came easily to him."

The woman laughs. "Unlikely. Except for him I've always admired people in the medical field. It's a lifetime commitment."

"It sure feels like it."

"What year are you?"

"I've only just finished my fourth year. I'm graduating next week."

Another smile is drawn out of Lauren; small but enthralling. "One more thing to celebrate then."

"Congratulations," Hans chimes in, suddenly interested in their conversation. "Anna's been talking for months about how much time you've had to spent at the hospital. I was sure it'd pay off."

Elsa turns to her girlfriend who seems embarrassed even though she doesn't think she should be. She then opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted by a man coming up from behind her, drawing Lauren's attention away from the group, and asking if he can steal her away for a moment. She excuses herself not without thanking Anna for coming and telling Elsa how nice it was to meet her.

"So what's the next step?" Hans asks when she's gone. He's looking squarely at Elsa; a glass of whiskey held in one hand while the other hides in the pocket of his gray suit pants.

"Residency," she responds. She feels strangely uncomfortable with Hans speaking directly to her. She wants Anna to chip in with a random comment or maybe even a joke—for Amanda to suggestively stroke his arm and say, _I'm going to go powder my nose in the bathroom, wanna come with?_

"And that is... what? Three, four more years of your life?"

"It is usually three years of residency and three more years of cardiology fellowship."

"And why cardiology?"

Elsa drinks in order to ground herself. She catches Anna's eye in the process and realizes, with a certain amount of dread, that she's looking back expectantly.

"Because I have always been interested in the functions of the heart," she deadpans. 

Hans smirks and goes silent for enough seconds that Elsa starts to wonder if he can see through her lie. He then takes the last swig of his drink before looking at Anna.

"This is what I was talking about," he says.

"What was that?" Anna asks.

Hans turns to Elsa again. He is grinning by now—a little too cynical—, openly enthusiastic about wherever this conversation is going. It makes her wonder just how much he's had to drink. 

"When we took that trip to LA," he tells her, "we had this whole conversation about how love can be a dangerous thing for a writer. And I told her that love shouldn't be the only thing she thinks about."

Elsa frowns. She doesn't recall Anna ever telling her about this. "What would be so wrong about that?"

"Nothing," Anna mumbles.

Hans ignores them both for a second, handing the empty glass to Amanda. "Do me a favor, sweetheart. Can you bring me another whiskey—straight—not on the rocks?"

_Get it yourself,_ Elsa wants to say, but the girl is already holding onto the glass and walking away with nothing but a smile.

"Elsa, you'll agree with me," Hans resumes, "You're spending years of your life and hours of your day working to become a doctor. It's demanding and time consuming, but you do it anyway because you love it."

"I do."

"Even if that means sacrificing time with the people you love."

She finds herself clenching her teeth. Next to her, Anna steps closer. "No one is sacrificing anything, Hans."

"Isn't time being sacrificed?" He asks, insistent beyond belief. He is smiling, increasingly elated, as if he knew he could win this argument if only he pushed hard enough for it. "This is what I was telling you, Anna. People can't just live for the sake of love. There are things that must be sacrificed if you wanna accomplish something in life."

"That is extremely cynical," Elsa says. She's trying to keep herself in check—forcingherself not to cross a line.

She promised Anna it would be okay.

"I'd like to think it's realistic. I had to do it myself to get to where I am today. Ask Lauren, she will tell you the same thing."

"Can we stop talking about this?" Anna pleads.

"Why? It's important that you hear this. Even your girlfriend here is setting an example."

"My girlfriend has a name, Hans," she quickly retorts, but somewhere below her own anger Elsa finds enough rationality to place a calming hand on her arm. When Anna looks at her, she faintly shakes her head.

"Look," Hans says; almost laughing; raising up his hands in mocking defeat. "I just don't want you wasting your potential, that's all."

"Quite bold of you to assume that she is," Elsa defies.

"It's more of a making sure she doesn't."

Amanda arrives a moment later with a brand new glass of whiskey. Like some model showcasing a new product—oblivious and all smiles. Hans takes the glass, drops a sloppy kiss on her cheek that makes her giggle, and the only thing that goes through Elsa's mind is that she wishes she could punch him in the face.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Anna suddenly mumbles, only glancing at her once before walking away.

Elsa feels the emotions she'd kept at bay burst under their own pressure. This is enough for her to take a single step closer. Enough for her to catch the glossiness in his eyes: he reeks of whiskey.

"You may be her boss," she states coldly, "But don't you dare pretend like you have her best interests at heart."

She doesn't wait to process the now hardened look on his face, nor does she give herself the time to think of anything else except for going after Anna. She leaves without looking back, her hands shaking with repressed anger.

How did things go so awfully wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. so first of all sorry for the cliffhanger. i had another ending in mind and then the scene took me elsewhere and i was like, how dare you. second, im making Lauren look like Cate Blanchett in Carol. why? because i can.
> 
> now third thing... i needed to let you guys know that it will probably take me longer to update this time than is usual. life happens and there are certain things right now that i need to deal with and assimilate. i am also (fucking finally) moving back to Mexico, which isn't really so shitty so let us not fret over that, though i am gonna be very busy in the next couple of weeks with packing and adulting (yay).
> 
> btw please don't think that i'm giving up on the story. if anything, i need writing now more than ever to get through this. i just... need some time yeah? feel free to hit me up whenever though, i'm not going anywhere :)
> 
> stay safe everyone <3


	29. Contemplation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm back :) this past month has been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for me. But through it all I've had the support of those of you who've gone from readers to friends and I could not be happier about that. Thank you all for being patient and for sticking around, and for continuing to love this story. I hope I don't let you down. 
> 
> Anyway, stay safe and take care everyone! I'm looking forward to seeing what you all think on the comments :)
> 
> PS. I strongly recommend you guys listen to A Song For You by Rhye for the very very last scene of this chapter (not the karaoke, but after!!!! my gf started way before—don't be my gf)

It doesn't take long for Elsa to find her.

She hadn't gotten far to begin with. All she'd needed was to distance herself from the conversation, to ground herself once more in order to shake off the sensation of discomfort that was starting to claw away at her mind. She'd walked away berating herself for letting Hans get to her as much as he did. She'd walked away regretting so many things all at once.

She's sitting on a bench in the quiet hallway adjacent to the rooftop. She'd intended to head straight for the restroom, hide inside a stall until she felt calm enough to come out or until Elsa found her, but she'd somehow changed her mind midway. She now finds herself staring at the polished marble flooring, lost in the gray lines that run across the tiles like veins across pale skin. From her peripheral vision, she catches Elsa approach slowly; tentatively.

"Hey," she hears her say.

But she doesn't respond with words. Instead, she scoots to the side, gesturing for Elsa to sit next to her. In the seconds that follow, they stay silent. Elsa offers her hand by placing it on Anna's lap, its palm facing up. She takes it, holds on to it, without saying anything at all. She doesn't feel like talking just yet. All she wants is to forget this ever happened, to put a pause on the moment they found Lauren and erase everything else. That sounds about right, she thinks. An erasure of her discomfort and insecurities, of the vague sense of resentment aroused by her boss.

"I'm sorry," Elsa murmurs.

She looks at her. "Why?"

"I know how much you were looking forward to tonight."

Anna shrugs in an attempt to brush it off. She turns her attention to the hand she holds in hers before she traces an index finger over the faint, bluish lines of Elsa's veins. She brushes past her knuckles, over the fingers she's doted on for so long, and stops by the small scar Elsa has on the back of her left middle finger. She remembers asking Elsa about it. She'd cut herself with a scalpel, she said, back in her first year. Anna had winced dramatically, shuddered, kissed the back of her fingers until Elsa started giggling. She remembers wishing she could erase the pain off her memory that way.

"Do you think I'm wasting my time?" she suddenly asks.

"With what?"

"With writing. Do you think it's just a waste of time?"

"I don't think that at all," she responds. "Why are you asking me this? Is it because of what Hans said?"

She shakes her head. "I've been thinking about it for a while..."

A woman saunters down the hall, her heels clacking loudly against the marble. Elsa waits for her to pass them by before speaking again. "I think it will never be a waste of time as long as it makes you happy."

"That's somewhat encouraging," Anna mumbles, lifting up her head in time to catch the frown on Elsa's face.

"I know you've been having a hard time with it lately," Elsa tells her, "and I know that little of what I say will change things or make you feel better. But I want you to know that I will do anything to help you get through this. You're not alone, Anna. You got me."

She feels like crying all of the sudden. Surely she's being hormonal. Surely it is not the fact that Elsa's words have struck a chord in a way she cannot begin to describe, nor the fact that her emotions are starting to give her whiplash—one minute she's happy, the other one sad; the next minute she thinks she could bawl her eyes out because she feels frustrated and grateful all at the same time.

"Can we just leave?" she asks in a lowered, broken voice. Stupid hormones.

Elsa tucks a strand of hair behind Anna's ear. "Anything you want, baby."

They leave without stepping back on the rooftop again. She doubts Hans will miss them at all, figures that at this point he's already busy talking to someone new; busy knocking back yet another whiskey.

The elevator ride is silent while Anna steps into her girlfriend's arms, looking for comfort. She feels like a kid now. How pitiful.

"I'm hungry," she mumbles, nuzzling the taller girl's neck.

"I think I know something that will cheer you up."

"Please tell me it's pizza you're thinking about."

Elsa smiles down at her.

They exit the building and head towards Sixth Avenue, and for the first time in a long time Anna doesn't know what to talk about. She feels strangely withdrawn; tired even though she has no reason to be. The avenue is busy: white and yellow lights glimmer from all sides; the white noise of New York's unstoppable energy often broken by the honking of taxi cabs too eager to finish the ride and charge the fare. Elsa keeps pulling her out from within herself, distracting her with silly little nothings, bringing her hand up for feathery kisses as they head north and then west. Anna is grateful for the way she fills in the silence, preventing her from losing herself to thoughts that'll do her no good.

The neon lights of Times Square reach them from a block away as they sit on the red bench outside of Joe's, eating a cheese-only slice of pizza that covers the entirety of the now greasy paper plate they've been given. Anna wonders how they must look to the strangers passing by: she with a power suit that doesn't feel so powerful anymore and Elsa with her powder blue dress and shiny high heels, her legs crossed in that proper manner that she makes appear effortless. The thing is that no one truly spares them a glance and Anna is reminded once more of the peculiar way in which this city works. She realizes that people move on too quickly here. That is, if they ever stop at all.

"What are you thinking?" Elsa asks her, grabbing a napkin to wipe marinara sauce off Anna's chin when she turns to look at her.

"Just nonsense," she says honestly.

"I like your nonsense, though."

Anna smiles gently, takes another bite off her pizza to give herself the time to formulate a proper response.

"I was just thinking about how people barely spare you a glance here, like you're invisible."

"Maybe there's too much to look at so they choose not to look at anything at all."

"Speak for yourself. I like to look at everything and everyone."

The blonde chuckles. "Because you're a very unique case," she says. "I personally like it. It gives me some kind of pseudo privacy knowing nobody here cares enough to stare."

"But what if I want to be recognized?"

Elsa watches her for a moment, taking in the meaning behind her words before she smiles and states: "One day you will be."

They finish their slices and walk up to the train station at the heart of Times Square—the word Subway lit up by hundreds of light bulbs, like an old billboard showcasing the latest Broadway show.

A train ride later and they arrive at Anna's apartment, discard their clothes, and get ready for bed; all of this in a synchronicity they both know too well. Habitual is a word that comes to Anna's mind. 

She waits for Elsa to finish brushing her teeth, not in bed but in front of the board she'd bought not too long after coming back from London. She realizes she's been doing this more and more often, rummaging through her memories rather than dwelling on her present. The board is nearly covered by pictures they took while she was there: Elsa unable to cover her smile with the tea cup she's holding up; Anna grinning from ear to ear as she points with her thumb at a statuesque guard near the Buckingham Palace; the two of them in the picture frame, with Elsa kissing her cheek while the London Bridge sits in the background. There is a postcard as well, pinned near the center. It showcases its back rather than its front, with the word London printed at the bottom of it and in the middle a simple, handwritten statement: _I love you!_

She's distracted by her girlfriend stepping out of the bathroom. Elsa is wearing the purple NYU shirt she'd appropriated not too long after they started spending more nights together and black shorts that showcase her still toned, pale legs. Anna knows she doesn't run like she used to—certainly not as often, at least. _Not the only thing she's had to sacrifice,_ she thinks with a rancor that catches her off guard. It makes her divert her eyes, nibble harshly at her lip.

"Are you okay?" Elsa asks, approaching. 

Anna nods as she urges her mind to focus on something else. It doesn't become hard when Elsa has reached her, hugged her around her waist and pulled her closer.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She places her palms on Elsa's upper arms and squeezes. "I think the wine just made me sleepy."

"I thought it was just the reds," she teases.

"Clearly I'm old enough that any kind of alcohol will put me to sleep."

Elsa laughs softly. "You're only twenty-two—"

"Going on twenty-three—"

"You're _barely_ old."

She moves her hands from Elsa's arms up to her neck. "I count my years based on the amount of existential crisis I have. So I'm old."

"And dramatic."

"You knew that already. This is what you signed up for."

The taller girl pecks her on the lips and Anna feels a pang of guilt wash her anew. She wills her mind to stay in the present, right here with Elsa in her arms. She takes her to bed then, not without glancing one last time at the board that mocks her with a happiness she feels belongs to the past. She turns off the light, gets under the covers, and lies down facing Elsa. The moonlight coming from the window is faint—a cloudy night—but it is enough that Anna can still look into her eyes. All of the sudden, they look remorseful.

"I need to tell you something," Elsa murmurs.

"Oh?"

"I said something to Hans after you left."

Anna scoots closer even though she feels herself grow inevitably apprehensive. "Tell me," she says, and Elsa does.

She doesn't know what she was expecting to hear, but there are consequences that Anna cannot bring herself to fathom in the dullness of this room. The future, as far as Monday goes, appears murky in her mind; unpredictable. And the past, it is unchangeable.

"He might not even remember," she mumbles in response, hopeful.

"Maybe... but I'm still sorry. I should have kept quiet."

"You were sticking up for me."

"You're not mad?"

Anna shakes her head before she goes to touch her cheek with the back of her fingers. She doesn't tell her that she doesn't know what she feels at all. The only thing she knows is that she loves her, for everything she is and everything she has done. So she kisses her instead, urging the remnants of the night to go away.

* * *

Elsa graduates from medical school the following Wednesday.

The sun of May is smoldering and the thick layer of sunscreen that Elsa forced her to apply on herself is making her sweat and the chair stick to the bare skin of her back. To her right, Rapunzel is shouting and clapping at almost every announcement. Something which, Anna suspects, has to do with the venti iced coffee she had before arriving at Columbia's Morningside Campus. Eugene is whistling nonstop as well—what with energy being contagious and all that—and on the other side of her, Kristoff is turning a shade redder by the minute. Anna doesn't pity him, however. Not when he refused to wear sunscreen because he said sunscreen was for wussies.

"Who's the wuss now?" she says to him amidst people clapping for the umpteenth time today.

Kristoff responds by scratching his temple with his middle finger.

They have been here for nearly two hours, sitting far enough that they must hopelessly watch everything from the two screens propped between what Anna has secretly deemed as the general audience and the VIP audience—those who somehow managed to get seats closer to the Low Library stage and the graduates after pulling out the important name cards and one or two strings—or, the ones who know how to properly manage time in order to find good seats before they're all taken. Yet, regardless of the distance and regardless of the heat, Anna is happy to watch everything unfold. She watches the medical students stand up to recite the Hippocratic Oath and feels pride swell in her like a balloon. She holds tighter onto the rectangular gift box that sits on her lap as she thinks back to all those nights Elsa made it home with sleepy eyes and a tired smile; to the months she spent away, across the ocean; to the times Anna spent helping her study, throwing questions at her and only knowing the right answers because Elsa had written them on the back of the cards.

She thinks of it all and knows—accepts, deep down—that this has all been worth it. So she smiles tearfully, right before she is taken out of her sentimental musings at the sound of Rapunzel choking back her tears.

"My cousin is a doctor now," she says on the verge of weeping.

Anna's smile grows wider. She pats her friend's hand; the free one, the one that isn't holding the three colorful helium balloons she will give Elsa as soon as they find her.

There are more general speeches after the oath has been recited, an anthem she remembers her girlfriend calling a tad bit snobby, a few more closing words from the University Chaplain. Anna listens attentively to the latter. Words of encouragement, inspiration—the whole package of congratulatory farewell. She begins to think with slight amusement that even though Elsa is older, she attended Anna's graduation before she attended hers. Then again, Elsa has spent more years in school than Anna ever will. Which makes her wonder: what would have happened if she had chosen a relatively more common career? One that isn't pinned right next to the word starving— _starving artist, starving writer_ —one where professors don't have to remind you that half of the job includes being rejected.

Would she have been happier?

On her lap she feels her phone vibrate inside her purse. She pulls it out after a glance towards the stage. Mr. University Chaplain—she didn't catch the name—is still talking. "Be brave," he's saying. Yes, good, she thinks. Because adulting is scary. She checks the phone and reads a new message from Hans. Work related; it makes her sigh in relief. She has been walking on eggshells since Monday but he has yet to say a word about what happened at the party. She'd arrived at his office in the morning, holding tightly onto the strap of her bag, expecting backlash. Instead, all he'd said without sparing a glance was: "Grab me a coffee, will you?"

She replies to the message and gets a response almost right away. She doesn't want to be texting, not right now, but when she'd asked for the day off over a month ago she knew this was something akin to its consequence.

When Chaplain concludes his speech and everyone stands up to clap and cheer Anna puts her phone away. Once the commencement is officially over they set out looking for Elsa. They find her many minutes later with Sasha and his parents, near the Pulitzer building, on the left side of campus. She is wearing the light blue cap and a matching gown; a Columbia crown embroidered on each side of the chest.

Anna's feet can't seem to take her fast enough to where she wants to be, but when they finally do she throws herself into Elsa's arms. She's careful not to drop the box she's still holding even as she feels Elsa lift her up the ground with unrestricted joy. She laughs; a happiness she hadn't felt in so long fill her up and burst out with characteristic freedom. Elsa is grinning when Anna's feet touch the ground again, the black tassel of her cap swaying back and forth between them—a moment set right before they're nearly tackled by Rapunzel and the boys.

Anna watches as everyone congratulates her and revels in the sight of Elsa's smile, soft and humble. She shows them the award she's received for her superior academic achievement and Anna's chest swells once more with pride. She wishes Elsa's parents had been here to witness it; to feel the amount of delight Anna is feeling right now.

They leave campus soon afterwards with Sasha promising to join them for drinks on the weekend after his parents have left. The train they board is full of graduating students, their families and their friends; a myriad of light blue gowns, their hoods respective to their degrees—light brown for business, purple for law, white for arts. Anna had smiled when she'd seen Elsa's hood over her shoulders. Green is her favorite color after all.

It is hard to focus on the conversation going on between the group when almost everyone around them is talking but Anna manages to do so by standing close by, the hand that isn't holding the gift wrapped around Elsa's arm for leverage. It is because of this proximity that she catches the text message Elsa receives from a person she hadn't thought about for weeks, if not months.

"Is that Tracy?"

Elsa looks at her without concealing anything. "She's just texting me to say congratulations."

"I didn't know you guys were talking."

"We're not," she says, "You know I would have told you if we were. She texts occasionally and I respond out of politeness."

Anna hums. "How does she have your number anyway?"

Elsa is briefly distracted by something Eugene is talking about before she turns to Anna again. "She said she found it in my file or something." She then tilts her head, frowning bemusedly. "I told you this already. Weeks ago."

Anna adverts her eyes for a second, not saying what both know to be true: she doesn't remember. Yet, Elsa only grabs her hand before she gives her a soothing smile. Neither of them push the matter any further.

The restaurant they choose sits on Amsterdam Avenue, five stops south from Columbia University. It is crowded with late lunch patrons: Upper West Side middle-agers who know not how to react when the youth barges in, quarreling with each other and complaining about the heat. They're sat near the back, close to a couple who congratulates Elsa when she passes by. They all order drinks; cheer to the graduate. Elsa thanks them for coming because everyone except for Anna has called in sick at work and now she has to carry the burden of secondhand guilt. It is after this that Anna gives her the box she's been carrying around for hours. It is impatience, mostly, what drives her to do it now. She wants to see Elsa's reaction, but she also wants to leave behind the brief moment that occurred on the train. She feels guilty for having forgotten; for perhaps not having paid attention at all.

But Elsa is gentle with her, soft around the edges, and for a moment in this present time, Anna feels like she doesn't deserve her at all. It's a sensation that builds up in her throat as she watches Elsa open the brown box before blue eyes light up at the sight of its contents: a brand new stethoscope.

"I know it's a bit cliché," Anna explains as Elsa runs her fingertips across the initials of her name engraved on the back of the shiny diaphragm. "But I figured it was a good cliché and a useful one, too."

"Thank you," Elsa murmurs before she leans closer for a kiss.

"You don't think the initials are too much?"

"It's perfect as it is. Now I feel like a doctor."

Anna smiles. " _Finally._ "

"I have a chest pain, doc," Eugene interrupts from the other side of the table. "Do you mind checking it for me?" Rapunzel smacks him upside the head.

"Is it true you can die of a broken heart?" Kristoff then asks. They all look at him weird. "What? I read it in a science magazine."

"A science magazine?"

"Yes."

They keep staring at him.

"Okay fine, it was a romance novel."

Eugene snorts, but Elsa spares him his pride. "It's more complicated than that but it is technically possible," she says.

"How?" Anna asks.

She turns to her. "When you love someone very much, for example. The pain that comes after losing them can do things to your heart that go beyond simple metaphors."

"That's scary as hell," Eugene mumbles.

"Don't break up with me then," Rapunzel says, earning a stare.

Anna chuckles even though she dwells on Elsa's words while everyone else moves on. She had never imagined that the thought of losing Elsa in any way would ever cross her mind, yet here they are. She ponders on what ifs. She fears the unreal, and her mind goes in circles until the simple notion of it, as vague and unfathomable as it is becomes too hard for her to bear. She wishes to hold on to the present with nearly as much desperation as she reaches for Elsa's hand before she squeezes.

* * *

There is a shift in Hans's behavior that she doesn't start to notice until a week later, and while it doesn't come entirely as a surprise, it still throws her off the moment she enters the office.

"You're late," he says without looking up from his phone.

Anna stands dumbfounded. She'd checked the time just before entering, it was two minutes past nine. "The train was delayed," she explains, "You know how it is."

He looks up. "I actually don't. Make sure it doesn't happen again."

_Sure, let me tell the operator not to delay the train again._ "Okay." She goes to sit with unease stirring in her stomach. She wants to go home already. This is not looking out to be a great day.

Hans scoots closer in his chair but his attention remains on his phone. "What do I have for today?" 

Anna clears her throat, opens up her planner. "Not a lot for today. You have lunch with Ms. Stevens at noon and a meeting with Lauren back here at two, and I guess the, uh, pile of prospects you told me to remind you about."

Hans stares at her for an uncomfortable amount of time before he stands up and heads for the door. "Start going through the submissions while I'm out."

"Where are you going?"

"Breakfast," he says and closes the door behind him.

"The fuck?" Anna whispers. She scrambles for her phone, confident that Elsa will be quick to reply because she has nothing overly-productive to do for two weeks—she'd called it a mini vacation, Anna had called it the calm before the storm (she'd done a lot of research about internal medicine residencies. They sounded awful.)

_Hans is being weird,_ she writes.

The response comes seconds later: _Weird how?_

_Weird kinda mean? He was mad that I was two minutes late and he never bats an eye when I tell him about train delays and now he said MaAke SuRe ItD oEsnt HapPEn AgAiN. How am I supposed to make sure of that???_

Anna presses send without double-checking, puts the phone away for a moment, and reaches out for the pile sitting on the corner of his desk. More than half of them are manila folders, some of them are bound with wire, all of them look professional and all of them are manuscripts. And she thinks, what does her opinion matter in the end? She's not the one representing them. She could love a submission while Hans could hate it and they're back to square one.

"This is useless," she mumbles. She looks back to make sure the door doesn't suddenly burst open before she checks her phone again: _Do you think this has to do with what happened at the party?_

Anna reads the message twice then puts the phone down. The thought strikes her hard. She doesn't want to believe that this could be the most obvious explanation. But more importantly, she doesn't want to think that this is something that Elsa will feel awfully guilty about no matter how hard she may try to convince her otherwise.

_The party was a week ago. Maybe he's just having a bad day,_ she responds and puts the phone away entirely.

She sets out to work for the rest of the morning.

Hans returns almost two hours later, which Anna deems as too long of a breakfast but says nothing because she has a feeling the time for jokes is no longer an option with him. She sits on the edge of the chair, overly attentive, her back a little too straight for her liking. But she can't help it: she feels tense. Tense enough that she stumbles on her words when Hans asks her how far she got with the submissions; tense enough to not know what to say when he responds with uncharacteristic disdain. You're not working hard enough, is the meaning behind his words. It hits close to home.

When lunchtime comes around Anna decides not to take it as a surprise that Hans doesn't invite her along no matter how much she'd grown used to it. She takes it as a blow that she denies even to herself, even though lunches with important people are part of networking, and networking is an important part of getting your name out there.

Anna buys a sandwich at a coffee shop before she crosses the street towards Bryant Park. She finds a table close to the back of the library, pulls out of her bag the book she's reserved for her commute, but only sets it on the table instead of opening it. She takes a deep breath and looks at her surroundings: at the tiny birds hopping back and forth on their fragile-looking legs as they search for crumbs of food left behind; at other people sitting nearby, eating, reading, simply being.

She feels utterly alone and doesn't know why.

So she takes out her phone with the intention of calling Elsa, to reassure her girlfriend once more that Hans is not acting weird because of what she said (no matter what may or may not be the truth), and to distract herself from her stupid, haunting mind. But what she finds as soon as she looks at the screen is a missed call from her mother and Anna loses her appetite before she's even begun. She decides to call her then, rip the band-aid off and whatnot. The advantage of cramming all the bad stuff into one day is that she only has to deal with it once. It's called time management, planning and regulation, ergonomics 101. Whether or not this will have an impact on her emotional stability is a topic for next week. Class dismissed.

The tone dials four dreadful times.

"Hello?"

"Hi, mom."

"Hi, honey. Are you busy?"

She looks at her sandwich with longing. "Nope."

"How are you?"

"I'm okay," she says, not considering how short of an answer that is. "How's work?"

Her mother sighs on the other end of the line. "Busy. Very, very busy." Anna frowns when she doesn't say anything else right away. Is she supposed to respond to that?

She reaches for her sandwich instead. And her mother continues. "So I was thinking... I have a trip scheduled to New York in two weeks. We could have lunch when I'm there. You know, a small little something before your birthday. What do you think?"

Anna's sandwich stays somewhere midair, inches away from her still open mouth.

"Anna?"

"Uh, yes?"

"I asked you a question."

"Yeah, sure," she mumbles. When has she ever been able to say no to her mother anyway? And where is that stress ball when she needs it? She squeezes the soft bread in her hand and regrets it when a slice of tomato peaks through from the bottom. Now she's going to have to worry about the tomato not falling on her lap while she eats the sandwich. How much _worse_ can this day get?

"Wonderful."

"What about dad?"

A pause. "He is busy with work. You know how hard it is for him to take days off."

Anna looks up at the foliage overhead and the blue sky peeking through. There is a bird flying from one branch to the other. "Right," she says absentmindedly. It seemed more like a big jump.

"I will let you know my dates. I have to get back to work now."

"Sure."

"Goodbye, honey."

"Take care, mom."

She hangs up after hearing the clicking end of the phone call, and sighs heavily through her nose. She puts her phone down on the table, focusing on the sandwich in her hands for what seems like an awful lot of time to stare at one's food. She's lost her appetite by now but knows that she should eat—and knows better, too, than to let a sandwich ever go to waste. So she bites into it, chews without really tasting it, and swallows as harshly as a ragged truth. Her eyes land on two men playing chess at a table across from her. They are serious and focused; frowns wrinkling the skin of their foreheads as they stare down at inanimate pieces of wood that they intend to use to annihilate each other—intellectually of course.

Anna spends the rest of her break pretending to understand.

* * *

An hour goes to waste simply trying to choose what to wear for dinner. She's pulled half of her clothes out of the closet, some of which she has tried on, while some others she has merely glanced at before throwing them at the ever-growing pile on the bed. She keeps mumbling under her breath, keeps dreading this dinner with her mother out loud.

"It's just dinner, baby," Elsa tells her from where she sits at her desk. She's doodling on one of Anna's notebooks, slowly spinning in the chair. She's here for moral support, but mostly she's here to listen to her mumbles and to help her choose an outfit.

"It's a high-strung dinner."

"Would you like me to come with you?" Anna knows this is a joke but she stops halfway through trying on a shirt anyway and considers it. "I don't think your mom would appreciate it," Elsa adds.

"I guess not." But Anna would.

"I'll stay put. You send me an S.O.S. text and if you need me to call you pretending to have an emergency I can do that."

"Really?"

"I don't have as much experience as Rapunzel but sure I can." Elsa stands up from the chair, sets the notebook aside, and shortens the distance between them. She tucks her hands under the shirt and runs her hands over the curves of Anna's hips. "You should know by now I would do anything for you," she says, her voice softened now by the intimacy of their proximity.

Anna forgets about the clothes for a moment, forgets about everything entirely. She pulls Elsa closer by placing a hand behind her neck and kisses her.

The taste of Elsa's lips fills her with warmth, and the first touch of her tongue causes her knees to nearly buckle. Anna sighs through her nose when she feels a pair of soothing hands run up and down her back before they settle on her ass and squeeze, the action pulling Anna closer into Elsa's body. She then moans without so much as a thought when Elsa's thigh presses against her center, a pleasant rush of heat settling there. She's suddenly overwhelmed by a sea of sensations, lost in the way Elsa devotes every touch and every kiss to making her feel good.

Anna allows her to push her gently towards the bed, and when the back of her knees hit the edge, she pulls Elsa along with her. They both scramble on top of the pile of clothes, shifting enough so that they can push them to the side, ignoring the fact that most of them end up on the floor. Anna's mind wanders for a second to the imminent fact that she'll have to get ready soon, but she wills herself to stay focused on the way Elsa is leaving open mouthed kisses on her neck. She breathes deeply when she feels Elsa's hand slowly trail up her stomach as she begins to think of the possible outcomes of tonight—what flaws will her mother find this time? What shortcomings? She closes her eyes tightly, desperately wishing that her mind would go blank, but when Elsa grazes her breast and squeezes, she loses herself to the fact that it doesn't feel as good as usual.

"Stop," she breathes and Elsa is quick in retrieving her hand.

"Did I hurt you?" Elsa asks.

She shakes her head. She feels breathless. "It's okay, just... kiss me."

Hesitation mars her eyes for a moment before Elsa leans down again, this time only brushing her lips against Anna's. It builds much slower, with Elsa sucking gently at her lower lip and teasing only with the tip of her tongue. It isn't until Anna brings her hands up to cup her cheeks that she tilts her head to deepen the kiss. Anna welcomes it with a small moan, even if she feels the bitterness of her guilt gnawing at the back of her mind. She's going around in circles, wondering why she feels this way, withdrawing more and more into a place even Elsa can't reach. She wants to _feel_ , to go back to only a few days ago when pleasure and the sensation of Elsa's skin were the only things in her mind. But she can't. And this time, when Elsa's hand wanders once more to the hem of her unzipped pants and finds its way to her center, she stops her completely.

"Elsa, wait. I can't."

Her girlfriend pulls her hand away from between her legs. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"No," Anna rushes out, "It's not you. I'm sorry. I think I'm just too distracted right now."

"I understand," she says, and Anna aches at the self-consciousness that Elsa tries to hide. It's what drives her to brush her flustered cheek with the back of her fingers. 

"I just want you to be okay," Elsa adds in a murmur, leaning into the touch and closing her eyes. "That's all I want."

"I know, baby. I _will_ be okay. Like you said, it's just dinner."

"And if you need me..."

"If I need you I'll send you an S.O.S. text and you can call me saying that my apartment is on fire."

Elsa beams softly, and the sight makes her ache all over again. 

After enough tortuous pondering, Anna ends up putting very little effort into her outfit. It's not worth the trouble, she thinks. Not after what she already put the both of them through. Elsa reassures her time and again that it is okay, that things like this happen. You can't always be a horny bunny, she states and Anna gives her a pained expression before she bursts into a fit of giggles.

She leaves the apartment and doesn't stop psyching herself up until she reaches the restaurant. Her mother has let her choose this time and Anna has chosen a place on 36th street that sells sinfully good burgers. Comfort food is what she's aiming at. Give her a good burger, some tasty fries, and she might as well not mind being there at all.

The place is busy when she arrives and the hostess greets her with a cordial smile before she asks if she has a reservation.

"Uh, no—"

"She does." Anna whips her head around at the source behind her. Her mother is standing right there, looking not at her but at the hostess. "Anna Summers, two people."

The girl smiles again and asks them to follow her. Anna awkwardly steps to the side to let her mother pass but in the process she has forgotten to greet her and is soon caught in a one-arm embrace that only lasts a few seconds. Anna catches a whiff of the perfume she's always worn and thinks that at least something feels familiar.

"I figured you wouldn't bother to check so I did," her mother says when she steps back, and when she starts to follow the hostess Anna rolls her eyes so hard they almost reach the back of her head.

They sit down across from each other. Anna feels tense, edging on uncomfortable, and suddenly she wishes she had the same oblivious confidence as her mother. Then again, she thinks, she's not the one fluent in passive-aggressiveness. 

Anna buries her nose in the menu as she tries to delay the inevitable. She hums, goes through the entire list of entrées, main courses and desserts. She looks at the cocktail menu even though she knows she will order water, and studies the ingredients of the burger she's going to order even though it's pointless. The waiter comes not too long after she's read them three times. He asks what the ladies are drinking.

"I'll have a glass of chardonnay," her mother says.

"Water, please."

She looks at Anna. "You're not drinking anything?"

"I don't—okay. I'll have that as well, please."

The waiter smiles and leaves.

A few seconds pass before Anna fills in the silence. "I didn't know you drank."

"I don't drink, _drink_ ," she responds with a faint smile, "but we're celebrating something tonight so I figured why not?"

"What are we celebrating?"

"Your birthday."

Anna's mouth shapes into an 'o.' "It's not until next week, though."

Her mother leans closer. "But I won't be here next week."

She nods. Fair enough. _I won't be here either_ , she wishes she could say, _in a week's time I will be on a plane to Paris with my honey boo, trip sponsored by my own income, how's_ that _?_ But she's not traveling to the next borough, let alone Paris.

"So how are you guys doing? How's dad?"

Her mother shifts uncomfortably in her seat. They're interrupted by the waiter who has come to set two glasses on the table. He pours the wine swiftly, without letting a single drop hit the white cloth. Moments later he leaves with their orders.

Anna raises the glass as she mirrors her mother's actions. She's too caught up in the fact that she's ignored her question to pay attention to her toast, but she smiles anyway when their glasses clink together. The chilled wine falls bitterly down her throat but when it reaches her stomach the warmth is almost instantaneous. 

"Anna." Her mother's expression goes from merely sober to grave. It makes Anna frown. "Your father and I... we're getting a divorce."

"Oh—" _Happy birthday!_ "—okay."

"We tried, honey. We really did."

Anna scrunches her face in confusion. She registers her mother's hand reaching across the table, most likely in an attempt to touch hers, but Anna doesn't make a move to meet her halfway. The divorce doesn't come as a surprise. She remembers the conversation she once had with Elsa. The unhappiness she'd seen brewing in between her parents to an inevitable boiling point. But she is still surprised. Like an idea that strikes you once and then leaves you, evaporating in the air. But mostly, she is caught off guard by the absurdity of _this._ They've just made a toast. They've just talked about celebrating Anna's birthday in the form of a dinner—dysfunctional and awkwardly driven, but a dinner nonetheless—and now this.

"You two weren't happy."

"We had many good moments together," her mother admits, pulling her hand back.

"But you weren't happy, I could tell."

She adverts her eyes, touches the corner of her glasses, and takes a deep breath. "Let's not ruin dinner, okay? Tell me how you're doing. How is work?"

Anna's bewilderment comes back in an instant. Is this how dinners with relatives go? You drop a bombshell and then ask how's work in the same sentence?

"Work is fine."

"Are you still an assistant?"

Anna frowns, distracted and put off by the jab hidden in the question. "Yeah."

"You didn't study to be an assistant, Anna."

Her nostrils flare up but she swallows her anger with the bitter taste of her wine. The waiter arrives with the food and Anna doesn't know whether he has perfect or horrid timing, but perhaps the fact that she feels grateful should tell her that it is the former. She takes another sip, more cautious this time, and forces a smile when he tells them to enjoy the meal. Yet, she doesn't touch her burger but grabs a french fry and dips it angrily into the small cup of ketchup they've served with her food. She _knows_ what she studied for, thank you very much. And she knows, too, that this whole divorce thing was imminent. Really, she should have known all along. How stupid of her to assume that a happy couple could raise such a neglected child. But _seriously_?

"Did you really have to tell me right now?" 

Her mother straightens in her chair. Impossibly so, Anna thinks before she wonders if she's not the only one who's tense after all. "You asked me about us, about your dad. Would you rather I lied?"

_Maybe?_

"I guess not," she mutters. "So what now? You guys get a divorce, call it a day and we all move on with our lives?"

"You're an adult, Anna. It's not like you depend on us anymore."

"That's not what I meant. We're all so distanced from each other at this point that whether or not you get a divorce won't make much of a difference." Her mother winces at her words and Anna only regrets it for a moment. It assuages her, however, and she continues with less venom in her voice. "You just sound so... okay with it."

"I've been married to your father for more than twenty years. Of course I'm not okay with it."

Anna clenches her jaw and looks away. All she wanted was to have a happy family. To have parents who looked out for her in more ways than just financially. To look forward to seeing them over and over again, to be excited about their phone calls instead of dreading them, to feel like she is worth their time. All she wanted was to feel loved. But at this point, she'll just settle for this dinner to be over.

She doesn't send Elsa an S.O.S. text. She endures dinner for an hour more or so, tiptoeing along with her mother around the topics neither of them wish to discuss. It is an efficient way to get through their time alone—it always has been. 

She lets her pay for dinner: a birthday present. They stand up, and Anna follows her out of the restaurant with vehement sadness tightening around her throat. She is sad about the divorce, no matter how inevitable it may have been. The separation of her parents completely shatters the image of a happy family she may have once pretended to have. And she wonders: how is it possible to long for something you never even had a taste of?

She welcomes her mother's embrace, nods when she wishes her an early happy birthday and smiles sadly even if she can't see her. A mixture of emotions well up in her eyes but a single thought lingers, and when her mother steps away to hail a cab, Anna feels the need to voice it.

"Was it worth it, mom?"

Her mother turns around just as a taxi is parking by the curb. She stands still. "What?"

"All these years of hard work. The success and the sacrifice of the relationships you once valued. Was it ever worth it for the both of you?"

Anna watches her mother's eyes harden behind her glasses, her expression morph into one of deep sorrow. She holds onto the handle of the door and opens it before she says, "One day you will understand."

* * *

August comes with the promising prospect of a break.

Anna arrives at work on a Friday earlier than expected—although lately, earlier is a relief. She greets Hans without much ado, sets his coffee on the desk, and gets to work right away. She does it gladly, and she thinks that if things weren't so hot and cold between them now she would start to whistle a happy little tune. Maybe even break into a song. Get on the table and dance in celebration. Because Hans is going on vacation—much deserved for him and for her, too—and Anna couldn't be happier to work under Lauren's wing for two weeks, free of her boss's bizarre, somewhat whiplash-inducing but mostly just cold, behavior. For she's had to work harder each day to keep him satisfied, with longer hours piling up on her shoulders along with the physical weight of her fatigue. Work, and work, and work. All for the sake of reaching towards a success that each day becomes more dwindling.

She thinks of her mother's words for weeks on end, like haunting phantoms in her mind. But only once does she ever discuss it out loud, and that is with Elsa. They talk about it that same night; briefly. Because as time progresses Anna has come to realize that the relationship she once had with words is no longer the same, and that she often doesn't know what to say when people ask her how she feels. But Elsa tries anyway—she always does—and offers the silent comfort that comes from listening, even if Anna's thoughts are ragged with doubt, confusion and resentment.

So she spends the next two months focusing on other things. She visits Theo once, then twice, and another time with Elsa—when she is free; something which has become less and less of a possibility these days—, but even Theo's words and unwavering wisdom can only do so much. So she asks about her life instead, about the struggles and the overcomings; about the love in her life, and the dreams, and the heartbreaks. And along with the company of her friends and the stories Theo shares, and the love Elsa gives her no matter how little time she may have or how tired she may be, Anna keeps on going with a head held high.

And a head held high is how she gets through her Friday. Because not only is Hans yeeting off to the Bahamas for two weeks, but it is also Kristoff's birthday today and they are celebrating it at a karaoke bar.

She wishes her boss safe travels and Hans gives her a charming smile that she doesn't know at this point whether it's fake or not. But who cares? She's too excited about tonight to think about him any longer than the amount of time it takes her to leave the building.

It is close to sunset when she makes it to the bar. Her friends are there, but Elsa isn't. She left the hospital almost at the same time that Anna left the office but, unlike Anna, she has no choice but to go home and get changed. "You don't want me to party in scrubs, do you?" she'd asked her. No, she didn't. No matter how amusing the mental image was.

She spends the next hour drinking in order to catch up to Kristoff, Eugene and Rapunzel. They decide not to get started on the karaoke until Elsa arrives but no one says anything about adding sobriety to the agreement. The main area of the bar is crowded, rowdy and a tad bit crammed. Kristoff is over the moon about his birthday and Rapunzel is over the moon about the fact that she's not the only girl there anymore. Eugene dares everyone to take a shot, and Anna regrets it the moment the tequila burns down her throat. The lime does little to assuage the taste. She nearly gags.

So why does she end up taking another one?

Elsa arrives, looking so stupefyingly hot in her tight black jeans and white tank top that Anna nearly loses it when she throws herself at her arms. She's ecstatic by now, ready to sing her heart out until she's lost her voice or until she ends up passed out on the floor.

"Are you drunk?" Elsa asks with a laugh.

"No."

"But are you sober?"

She grins. "No."

They rent one of the karaoke rooms near the back of the bar after getting a new round of drinks. Anna orders nachos along with her cranberry vodka because she's hungry—and should probably eat something solid, Elsa suggests—and she cradles the plate in her hands like a baby while Kristoff and Eugene go through the list of songs, indecisive until Rapunzel stands up and plays a song at random. Spice Girls comes on, but Eugene changes it before she has the time to grab the microphone. After a few more attempts, birthday boy goes first. He delivers the cheesiest, most dramatic rendition of Journey's _Don't Stop Believin'_ that Anna has ever witnessed, but Rapunzel is so into it that she nearly cries. Anna laughs amidst a mouthful of cheesy nachos until she nearly chokes.

She jumps at the queue and asks Elsa to look after her nachos while she's gone—to take care of them with her life if she must.

"Can I have some?"

"Yes but don't let Kristoff eat any."

"Hey, it's my birthday!"

Anna waves him off.

She tries to find a song that will best Kristoff's but she somehow ends up singing _Kids in America_ with Rapunzel. She jumps along, shakes her head in time with the music until she thinks she's about to throw up. Her throat is sore when they're done but she attributes it to the high notes of the song. She doesn't know yet that she will end up with mild aphonia the next morning.

Eugene wants to pick some depressing 80s song that nobody knows.

"It's an epic song."

"Don't be an epic loser," Rapunzel exclaims, "Pick something else!"

He picks _Livin' On A Prayer_ then, performs it like he's the lead on a concert, and everyone sings until they can't follow along anymore. Anna wonders if they'll get kicked out of the room.

Elsa chooses not to go up until after her second drink. When she's more loosened up, she says. Anna thinks she's just being merciful, sparing everyone else's feelings. She's heard her sing before—often at random times when no one is looking. The girl can _sing_. So she picks Whitney Houston's _I Wanna Dance With Somebody._ A choice that is bold for many and downright delusional for others, but not for Elsa. Because she belts it out like she owns it and Anna feels like she's fallen in love all over again. Maybe it's the alcohol or the loads of packaged yellow cheese she's just consumed, but her stomach is doing somersaults and she feels helplessly smitten.

When she sits back down Anna turns her full attention to her. Her white shirt has become blue under the neon lights of the room and her hair is slightly disheveled from all the dancing she's been doing.

"You're very pretty," Anna says.

"You're very pretty yourself," Elsa smiles. She then twists around to reach for her bag. "I brought you something."

Meanwhile Kristoff has fought everyone for the next turn. He's now in the middle of singing _Total Eclipse of the Heart,_ and Anna thinks that if someone doesn't snatch the microphone away from him, she will.

Her attention is back on Elsa who's pulled out of her bag a single packet of Skittles.

"Skittles," Anna says. _No. M &M'S, you genius._

"It's been two years since we first met. Remember the Skittles you shared with me?"

Anna smiles. "I remember being alarmed when you told me you liked the orange ones."

"I get to have more that way."

She throws herself at Elsa. "We should have known all along!"

"What?" she asks, returning the hug.

"That we were meant for each other!"

They spend the rest of the night singing to their hearts' content, drinking some more, fighting over the microphone as if this were a new toy and they, children. Kristoff and Eugene end up singing _Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,_ and go as far as making up an impromptu choreography: jazz hands, swaying hips. Anna records it all—for blackmail purposes or pure entertainment, she is still unsure.

It is well past midnight when they all leave and make their slow, drunken way back to the train station. Elsa is spending the night at Anna's apartment, and after Eugene and Rapunzel have gotten off the train and they've made sure Kristoff doesn't miss his stop, they both get off on 14th street. Anna sings the entire way, from the moment they step out onto the street to the moment they reach the door to her apartment.

"You don't have to be _beautiful_ —"

"Do you have the keys?"

"To turn me _on_ —" Anna hands her the bag "—I just need your body, baby, from dusk 'til _dawn._ " She presses herself against Elsa's back and grinds drunkenly.

"I can't open the door if you keep pushing me against it."

"Let's stay right here then. Dance with me."

They stumble inside, giggling and almost falling on the kitchen floor. Anna closes the door, leans against while she recovers her breath. Her eyelids are heavy but she feels wide awake. Happy. She's taking in the way Elsa is looking at her from where she stands in the middle of the kitchen, as if she's suddenly sobered up in a matter of seconds before she slowly reaches for her hand with a smile and gently pulls when Anna takes hold of it. She steps into her arms the same way she has done so many times before, but giggles without knowing why when Elsa places a hand on her waist.

"What are you doing?" she asks when they begin to sway slowly.

Elsa pulls her closer. "We're dancing."

"But there's no music."

"Don't need it."

Anna feels the warmth of Elsa's breath graze her ear; the hand behind her back spread wider at the same time that she begins to hear Elsa humming a soft tune. She nestles her head in the space where Elsa's shoulder meets her neck, and smiles. She lets herself be led in the calm swaying that accompanies her voice as her own mood quietens and gives way to something else. Something soothing; as gentle as the way their feet barely move across the floor in a small, intimate dance.

Words fall from Elsa's lips; they drip like honey. She has never heard her sing this way, in a voice that is almost a breath, intimate yet full of emotion. And then Elsa is stepping back, spinning her around, grinning when Anna giggles and falls back into her arms.

"What a gentleman," Anna says when she's draped her arm over her shoulder again.

Elsa hums. "For you only."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She continues to sing softly, lulling Anna back to a place where her heart was once filled with nothing but happiness. It drives her to close her eyes in order to reminisce it better. Alcohol is still thrumming in her veins but there is clarity in her mind when she thinks that this is the closest she's been to the way things used to be before. And she aches. She holds on tighter to the anchor that is Elsa in her life, and wills this love to wash over her the same way the ocean washes over sand.

Let her drown in it so that she can come back to life again.

"I miss you," she murmurs, and doesn't realize how much she means it until the words are hanging in the air.

A pair of lips touch her shoulder. She feels Elsa's arm pull her even closer in an agonizing gesture of longing. Then, a sigh.

"I miss you too," Elsa breathes.

She rests her head against Elsa's and closes her eyes. They're swaying still, to nothing but silence, in the middle of this room that holds so many memories for the two of them. She can see them rush her by behind her eyelids, like pictures drawn in the blue of Elsa's eyes and the rosy color of her lips. And Anna can see that amongst darkness, there is something else, too.

A sliver of joy.


	30. The fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can I say except for thank you. Thank you guys for your continuous support. I know that many of you aren't very vocal and that's okay, though I encourage you to leave a comment if u can. I am a simple woman with very simple needs, and one of those needs is your feedback. It doesn't matter if your comment is just 'AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH' or an indecipherable series of feelings, or just a 'cool chapter', or a full essay, or plain and simple constructive criticism. To know what you guys think and how you feel means so much more than you may think. And honestly, that goes out for every fic and fanart we consume. Our support for each other keeps us all going. And imma stop now cause I'll get emotional... To conclude, I recommend two songs (idk if any of u guys actually listen to them but if there's even one of you out there who does that's already a win in my book). The songs are: Blue by Aaron Taylor and Don't Pull Away by Milosh & \- in that order. And as always, take care of yourselves :) Enjoy!

"Come on."

"What?"

"Admit it."

"No."

Sasha stares at her from the other side of the table. The corner of his lips are twitching. He's trying not to laugh.

"Would it really hurt you to admit that you need coffee?"

"I don't _need_ coffee."

"But you're sleepy," he insists, lifting up his mug and gently moving it around so as to mock Elsa with its goodness. "I know you'd like a cup of coffee right about now."

Elsa rolls her eyes—her stupidly tired eyes. A nap is what she would like right about now. She could find a free cot and tuck herself in for about thirty minutes. Or maybe she could just... close her eyes for a bit... nestle her head right here in her arms and...

Suddenly Sasha stands up, making enough noise with his chair that Elsa's head shoots back up.

"Where are you going?" she asks him.

"I'm getting you a coffee. I'm getting sleepy just looking at you."

Elsa doesn't protest. She can't, not with the last reserves of energy she's been working on. It isn't normal to be this tired, she thinks. And she could easily attribute it to the nights on call; to the restless quietude of the hospital halls and the uncomfortable padded cots she's been sleeping on. But the exhaustion she feels isn't physical, nor even mental. It is purely emotional. The persistent fears; the haunting thoughts that chase after her even in her dreams. The quiet anguish that she has been pushing further and further back in her mind for the last couple of months, that there might be something wrong with Anna, with her, with them. It steals hours of sleep away from her, the remnants of stability she once took for granted, and the taste of happiness she once thought could be eternal. It's left her feeling empty.

Elsa covers her face and breathes out a sigh. "I'm just tired," she says to herself. Just tired...

Sasha returns only minutes after being away. He places a paper cup with black, hot coffee in front of her before pulling out of the front pocket of his white coat three creamers, three packets of sugar and a wooden stirrer.

Elsa mumbles a thank you as she reaches for the cup. It is warm even through the cardboard sleeve, but it is its scent which brings her the greatest comfort. She hates admitting it but Sasha was right. She _does_ need a cup of coffee. Right about now.

"But what if I get the jitters?"

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

Sasha sits back and crosses his legs. "You won't, I promise. All you're gonna experience is a nice, warm rush of energy to get you through the night."

Elsa narrows her eyes but doesn't say anything else. She prepares the coffee slowly, only pouring and stirring the three creamers before stacking the packets of sugar onto a small pile that she sets to the side in case someone else needs them. She then blows for a few seconds, and braves a sip.

"Have you been sleeping okay?" Sasha asks her.

"No," she grumbles, "I've been here."

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean. Night shifts last a few days at a time but you look like you haven't slept in over a month."

"That's an exaggeration."

"I think it's pretty accurate."

Elsa grunts but ignores his question by focusing on her coffee instead. Sasha doesn't fully drop the matter, however, not if his suspicious glances in between sips of his own coffee are anything to go by. But it is some time in the middle of the night, and the air is sterile and still. Patients are asleep—the ones, at least, not haunted by restless affliction—while doctors and nurses wander the halls noiselessly, like vigilants, checking stats and IVs, waiting for morning to come so that they may begin anew. Not the most suitable environment for Elsa to feel like explaining why she looks like she hasn't slept in over a month.

"Seriously, though. Are you okay?"

Elsa nods, no matter how much she wishes she could unburden herself.

Her friend doesn't look convinced but he doesn't push it any further. And perhaps it is for the best, she will think later on, because her pager goes off before she even has the time to finish her coffee.

Like an instinct, Elsa stands up. She tells Sasha that she'll catch up with him later on while he smiles, nods and waves her off. There is no guarantee that they will see each other again throughout the night and they both know it. Applying to the same residency and getting in was never a promise that they would work together, let alone see each other often. But Elsa found great comfort in Sasha's presence and she knew that he did in hers, too. They understood each other in ways that many people in their lives couldn't—the night calls, the long hours, the exhaustion and its reward. They supported each other without question, and on nights like this, they helped each other stay awake.

Elsa takes the elevator to the pulmonary unit while she considers talking to Sasha about the things roaming through her mind. She could tell him all about how she hasn't been sleeping well no matter how much comfort she may find in the proximity of Anna's body—when they sleep together at all. She could say that they no longer see each other every day because there are not enough hours in them, and Anna has been working relentlessly for a job that no longer seems to make her happy while Elsa has been spending grueling hours at the hospital.

She could confess how scared she is of losing her, and how often she thinks that she already has.

The elevator slows down to a stop on the fifth floor and Elsa takes a deep breath. She arranges the stethoscope that hangs around her neck and runs her hands down her coat, straightening its invisible wrinkles along the way. She steps out as soon as the doors slide open. It is time to get back to work.

She's expecting to find Dr. Williams waiting outside but she finds Ms. Jackson instead, an experienced nurse who reminds her very much of Theo sometimes. A woman with keen but playful brown eyes; tender in her care but stern when she must be. She's taught Elsa more in the past few months than some of her professors did during medical school. She is unwavering and wise, very much like Theo indeed.

"Dr. Williams had to step out," Ms. Jackson explains, "He asked me to call you."

Elsa nods curtly.

"Do you know the lady on fourteen?" Ms. Jackson asks, already beginning to walk down the hallway.

Elsa follows along as she fishes out of her pocket the sign-out list one of the interns gave her earlier that night. "What's her name?"

"Miller. Linda Miller."

"What's the problem?"

"She says she's feeling short of breath."

"What are her vitals?" Elsa hears herself say, unused still to the tone of voice she takes up when it comes to these kinds of things.

Ms. Jackson pulls a card out of her pocket and reads off a series of numbers that Elsa jots down. She spends a minute studying them as they continue to make their way down the hall. She revises her heart rate and her blood pressure, none of which she can properly interpret at the moment. Her respiratory rate, however, is vaguely disquieting.

When they reach the room Elsa's eyes immediately fall on the patient sitting alone on the bed. The space is dim and quiet except for the vitals monitor's beeping and the TV set at a very low volume. _I Love Lucy_ is playing, the audience's laughter weaving through the air from time to time: a strange contrast with the dire situation looming ahead. The face that turns towards her as Elsa approaches the bed is wrinkly, almost waxy, while its features remain unchanged except for the woman's eyes, as if any sort of movement would rob her of the air she can barely keep in.

"Are you my doctor?" she asks with a struggle.

"I'm the doctor on call," Elsa responds. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I can't... catch my breath."

"Are you feeling dizzy?"

The patient shakes her head slowly.

Elsa bends over and places the stethoscope Anna gifted her on the woman's back. She can hear air moving in and out, as well as a faint rustling, like stale clothes brushing together in an old closet. She then pulls the silicone tips out of her ears and turns to Ms. Jackson.

"Put her on two liters of oxygen," Elsa says, "We can check again in ten minutes."

She moves aside to give Ms. Jackson enough room to work and finds herself lost in thought almost as soon as she steps out into the hallway. She checks her new smartwatch courtesy of Rapunzel—she'd looked it up, she'd said, doctors needed reliable watches to keep up with whatever shenanigans they got going on—and sees that it past 3 AM. Anna must be fast asleep right now, and the desire to call her, to hear her voice if only for a moment lingers in Elsa like an unfulfilled wish.

Her feet take her to the doctors' workstation. She sits in front of a computer, with half a mind to run through some lab results before she has to check up on Mrs. Miller or before her pager goes off again, but all she does is rest her elbows on the desk and sit idly. Part of her tells her to work on something, anything that will keep her mind occupied. Another part tells her that she should allow herself this moment. She doesn't feel as tired as she did an hour ago but it seems like no amount of caffeine, jitters or not, can manage to quieten her overthinking mind.

Some time later there is a knock on the door.

"Doctor."

Mildly startled, Elsa turns around in her chair before she stands up straight. Ms. Jackson allows herself an amused smile that is quickly replaced by a profesional façade. "She's on ninety percent," she tells her.

"That's better," Elsa says, hopeful.

"Not with how hard she's working on two liters."

She purses her lips. "Do you think we should do a gas test then?"

Ms. Jackson gives her a nod.

Back in the room, Elsa greets the patient again. Ms. Jackson hands over the syringe to her, and Elsa explains everything to Mrs. Miller as she does it in an attempt to soothe her nerves. It's a basic procedure, she says. All she has to do is find an artery and draw off a bit of blood. It'll sting a bit, but it is quick. She then pulls the needle out of Mrs. Miller soft, aging skin and holds a pad of gauze to her wrist.

"How are you feeling?" Elsa asks.

Mrs. Miller lifts up her free hand with some effort and rocks it back and forth. "Still... short of breath."

"Okay. I'll be right back," Elsa tells the two women in the room. She steps out and hurries down the hall towards the lab, the sound of her shoes leaving no echo behind.

It is a while before the results come out but when they do, Elsa feels a sense of dread begin to take over. She makes her way back, somewhat aware of the deafening silence that drowns the hall. She checks her watch again. It is 4:12 AM. As soon as she enters the room, she approaches Ms. Jackson. Her brown eyes scan Elsa's features, and realization dawns on her before she's even spoken.

"We need to tube her," Elsa tells her in low voice. She glances back at the patient lying on the bed. Her eyes are closed now. Her chest barely moving.

"We can't," Ms. Jackson murmurs back. She shows her the woman's chart where the notations DNR/DNI stand out like a dreadfully glaring sign: Do not resuscitate. Do not intubate. An order given to the doctors by the patient that draws an inviolable line.

Elsa closes her eyes momentarily. "Crank up the oxygen then," she says, "We should also call a respiratory therapist in case we need them."

Ms. Jackson's nod is firm, and it won't be until many hours later that Elsa will realize that it was a hopeless one, too.

As the night progresses and breathes out its heaviest, most silent hours, Elsa continues with her work. She spends her time checking up on the rest of the patients on her sign-out list: some of them have managed to sleep, others have remained restless, but all of them are stable and Elsa feels like she can breathe without the burden of death for another night. She thinks about Mrs. Miller, however, constantly, wishing she could talk to someone about it all. And as the hospital slowly awakens and she can finally sense the end of her shift drawing nigh, she decides to check up on her one last time.

She finds the room in a state of slight commotion. There are people inside, moving around the bed where Mrs. Miller now sits crouched, as if clutching something to her chest. Elsa stands dumbfounded for a second until a tech approaches her with grave urgency swarming behind his blue eyes. "I was about to page you," he says.

"She's fighting the mask," Ms. Jackson exclaims from the other side of the bed while Elsa walks further inside and registers that this is aimed specifically at her. She wastes no time in any more thoughts. She reaches the bed in two more strides and lays a hand on the woman's bony shoulder. It rises and falls with each struggling breath.

"Mrs. Miller."

She shakes her head.

"We need to put the mask on you."

She shakes it again.

"She won't leave it on," Ms. Jackson explains.

"Tell me what I can do for you," Elsa begs.

Her hand waves her away.

"There's nothing we can do," someone behind her says.

Elsa chooses to stand beside her, helpless but unwilling to walk away this time. A wrinkly hand reaches out and without thinking, Elsa holds on to it. She watches Mrs. Miller breathe with the mask stubbornly pushed up to her forehead for a very long time, unable to understand why someone would choose to go like this. The woman closes her eyes, sinking deep into a place where she now feels unreachable. And her chest goes on moving for minutes that feel like hours, and people behind her continue to shift, but Elsa registers none of it except for the stiff, arthritic hand held in her own and the faint sound of her ragged breathing. There are no loved ones waiting at the patient's door, nor flowers by her bed, but Elsa will not let her be alone. And on and on she breathes, faintly, accepting of her fate, until the motion of her chest dwindles, slows down, and becomes no more.

Elsa goes through the motions of declaring death while the early streaks of sunlight seep through, warming the room slightly so.

It is 6:13 AM.

The air is fresh when she steps out of the hospital almost an hour later. Her mind, however, is vacant. She is exhausted, but she doesn't head for the train just yet. She walks the other way, towards a hidden side of the hospital where a flight of stairs lead to an electrical room no one has ever entered or come out of as far as she's concerned. She found it not too long after starting her residency, after a shift similar to this one. She'd needed to decompress before going home, so that she wouldn't bring any of this with her. And that is exactly what she does this time around. She processes the events of the night. She engraves in her memory the image of Mrs. Miller but lets go of everything else, so that the only thing that remains is her essence.

"There you are."

Elsa lifts up her eyes to find Sasha walking towards her, looking tired as well, still in his scrubs. He is carrying two bars of Snickers and a bottle of red Gatorade. His own version of comfort food.

"How did you know I was here?" Elsa asks.

"I check every time before going home," he says nonchalantly, not realizing how deep into Elsa's heart this simple statement reaches. "You like to think you're a mystery, but you're as predictable as snow in winter."

Elsa chuckles, scooting to the side to make room for Sasha. He sits down with a grunt and hands her one of the chocolate bars.

"Crappy night?" he asks.

"Really crappy," is all she says.

Sasha exhales before he takes a bite off his Snickers. "Same."

They eat their Snickers and share the Gatorade in silence, lost in their own minds until Sasha speaks out again.

"It was decaf."

Elsa turns to him with curiosity.

"The coffee I gave you," he explains. "It was decaf."

A smile slowly spreads across her face. She smacks his arm and Sasha makes a show of being hurt before he throws an arm over her shoulder. Elsa doesn't fight the embrace. She welcomes it gladly.

* * *

Weeks rush her by like still images of a movie she can't quite process.

She has been losing track of time, of a sense of stability, as if the days were blending in only to be broken by a few hours of sleep and a handful of good moments in between. Or good, she considers, because they are better than having nothing at all.

Her days have become nothing but remnants of the life she used to have. She sees little of her cousin who has found a job at an art gallery with the promising likelihood of an art show. She has seen almost nothing of Kristoff and Eugene, and so little of Theo as well because she can no longer afford the long, sporadic trips to Queens anymore. Yet, the person whose absence hurts her the most is the girl for whom Elsa spends sleepless hours missing, longing for, even on the nights they get to spend together. She goes around in circles, trying to pinpoint the exact moment where things started to change until she begins to stack up every possible cause and it all comes crashing down on her.

Elsa often thinks that it is hard to close an invisible distance with words and even harder to watch it increase with actions. But she tries anyway. She searches for moments in the remnants of her days to give herself to Anna, even if Anna never asks; even if she never admits that there is anything wrong. Pretense, denial, none is a veil thick enough to hide from Elsa the absence of fire in her eyes. That ambition, that larger-than-life desire to accomplish her dreams. All of it is gone; substituted by a dullness that Elsa herself can't change no matter how hard she may try; no matter how many pieces she may have to split herself into in order to be there for her. But Elsa goes on trying. Because for the past few weeks she has spent nights filled with sleepless hours tracing patterns over Anna's skin—urging herself, perhaps, to carve this feeling into her memory—and coming to the realization that if Anna can't be happy, neither can she.

And now, September has made its way to October and everything has fallen into the fall. It is colder outside and everything as it stands has been carried away by the wind. The leaves that have reached the ground are no longer green, but brown and orange; brittle under the soles of Elsa's boots as she makes her way through 14th Street.

Nothing is permanent, she thinks. Not the leaves on the trees, nor the time in a day, nor the seasons...

The wind picks up and she holds on tighter to the paper bag she has in her arms: Chinese take-out for Anna and for herself. It is Elsa's last night on call of this block and after this it will be a week and a half of uninterrupted break. She'd considered it a cause for celebration, even if Anna had to spend part of it packing for another work trip.

A few minutes later she reaches the entrance to Anna's apartment building. She takes two stairs at a time, impatient to get there already, and giddy, because she can't quite recall the last time they had an afternoon like this.

Anna has left the door unlocked, and Elsa would remind her once more to keep it locked at all times if it weren't because—

"I can't find my pink socks."

"What?"

"My pink socks," Anna repeats, "The lucky ones."

 _Why do you need the lucky ones?_ Elsa wants to ask, but her girlfriend's mind works in mysterious ways sometimes and she's learned not to question it. Instead, she places the Chinese take-out on the kitchen counter and asks: "Have you checked under the bed?"

"I did. Twice."

"Under the desk?"

"Yup."

"In the bathroom?"

"Why would they be in the bathroom?" Anna asks while she goes to check. "It's not like I took— _oh_."

Elsa smirks down at the container of orange chicken she's taken out of the bag. "Found them?"

"...Maybe."

She feels a pair of arms wrap around her from behind and sees the bright, pink socks held in one of the hands that are pressed against her stomach.

"You're a life saver," Anna says, dropping a quick kiss on the back of her neck that sends shivers down her spine.

"If only," she comments lightly.

Anna moves away, and when Elsa doesn't get a reaction out of her, she turns around to find her sitting on the bed, looking down at her phone.

"Everything okay?"

"Hm?" She looks up. "Yeah."

Anna gets back to packing after this, somehow quieter than she had been only minutes ago. It isn't until Elsa has placed the takeaway contents on two plates, and announced that the food is ready with enough buoyancy to pretend that she cooked it all herself, that Anna pulls her attention away from the phone and her suitcase entirely. She shoves the suitcase to the side, still open, with half its clothes folded and the other half simply thrown on top. She then gives Elsa a tight-lipped smile and pats the space next to her on the floor. Elsa doesn't question whether they should eat at the table instead, she simply watches her as she takes her spot.

"What?" Anna asks.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

The girl sighs, focusing her attention elsewhere. "You ask that a lot lately."

"Because you give me the same answer a lot lately."

"Maybe you should start believing me then."

"But I know you, Anna," Elsa whispers. How long have they been doing this, she wonders. How long has she had to reach out only to be met with a wall made up of superficial answers and denial and silence. How long is she going to have to keep trying until Anna can open up to her again?

"I'm just hungry. Can we drop it?"

She bites the inside of her cheek, and nods.

They watch a TV show on Anna's laptop while they eat: not exactly what Elsa had in mind. She'd thought— _hoped_ —that they would talk in between bites of orange chicken and chow mein even as the TV show went on in the background. That they would crack open their fortune cookies and decide whether or not their fortunes aligned with their wishes. She'd thought they would catch up because it has been five days since they have had a resemblance of some time together; that Elsa could tell her about how the last nights on call have been, or that Anna would tell her about the places she's looking forward to seeing in Seattle even if she has little time to herself on trips like these. But the words they share instead, banal and leading nowhere, weigh in on Elsa's shoulders more than she could ever admit while she goes on carrying the unspoken like lead in her tongue.

An hour then passes, and so does half of the next one before Elsa checks her watch and reluctantly announces that she must get going. She has to be at the hospital by 7:30 PM and she has already reduced her commuting time as far as it could go without risking being late. Still, she remains sitting next to Anna. She doesn't want to leave.

So she tries once more by tucking a strand of hair behind Anna's ear. The tips of her fingers graze Anna's cheek before her thumb brushes the corner of her lips. It lingers there, until Anna closes her eyes, leans into her hand for a second, and then pulls back.

"You shouldn't be late," she states.

"Anna..."

"And I should finish packing anyway."

A lump forms in Elsa's throat that makes it hard for her to swallow. "What's going on?" she pleads.

Anna shakes her head, looking down at her lap.

"If there's anything I'm doing wrong," she murmurs. "Anything I can do to fix this... Please tell me."

She watches Anna frown even though she hasn't lifted up her gaze from her lap. "Nothing is wrong," she says. "I'm fine. Everything's... _fine_. And even if it weren't there's not a lot you can do to change it. Most of the time you're at the hospital anyway."

An invisible weight presses hard on Elsa's chest and she suddenly feels like she can't breathe. It is a type of ache she hadn't quite felt before, bitter and sorrowful. So heavy that her voice is merely a gust of air when she says, "Okay."

Elsa stands up slowly on shaky legs and with a sigh laden with exhaustion. There is so much dread at the thought of leaving things this way, until she realizes that maybe she shouldn't be here at all. That perhaps it is her presence the cause of all this; her persistence; her stupid obstinacy. And maybe, she thinks as she bends down to kiss her forehead, maybe the thing that Anna needs right now is for Elsa to leave.

"I love you," she whispers.

"I love you, too," Anna whispers back.

She makes her way to the door begging the tears in her eyes not to fall just yet. _Keep it together_ , she tells herself, _this is not about you_. But when she reaches the knob, twists it and pulls the door open, she hears Anna call out to her. She turns back around, unsure of whether or not Anna will be able to see the tears brimming in her eyes but unwilling, too, to reach up and wipe them off.

"I'm sorry," Anna says, and it takes everything in her not to fall apart.

"Me too..."

A moment passes until Elsa gives her what she hopes is a reassuring smile, steps out of the apartment and softly closes the door behind her.

In the end, she doesn't have to make it far for the first tear to roll down her cheek.

* * *

Elsa finishes her shift at almost 8 AM the next morning in a forlorn mood and tired beyond comprehension. It was a slow night this time around, its hours stretching like a sterile hall that won't reach its end. Still, Elsa would have gladly traded it for any other of her nights. For emergencies that have her hurrying from one room to the other, or a stack of test results to go through. Anything that would have kept her idle mind busy and her thoughts elsewhere. Instead, she walks out of the hospital feeling stranded, stuck in murky waters marred with unease and uncertainty.

It is cold outside, the morning's breeze crisp against her cheeks. However, Elsa pays no mind to it because she is too busy looking down at her phone, caught up in the two missed calls left by Anna. They push everything else out of her mind, and Elsa calls her back without another thought.

It rings twice before Anna picks up.

"Hey."

"Hi," Elsa says. "Did you call me?" Stupid question, she thinks. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"I did. I wasn't sure when you'd get off so I only tried twice. I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

"You didn't." Unsure of where to go, Elsa heads to the stairs by the electric room only to realize, as she sits and waits for Anna to continue, that its quasi isolation doesn't bring her any comfort this time.

"I wanted to call you before things got too crazy over here," Anna says, "I needed to tell you that I'm sorry for what happened last night. For what I said and how I reacted."

Words of reassurance sit uncomfortably at the tip of her tongue. _You don't have to apologize,_ she could say, sweep it all under the rug and move on. But she can't bring herself to say any of that. "Why did you?"

There is a sigh on the other end of the line. "Work," Anna mumbles, "I made a mistake with scheduling one of the meetings for today, and Hans noticed and was upset about it. So he texted me. That's what I was reading on the phone yesterday."

Elsa processes this for a few seconds. "You could have just told me that."

A pause. "It's been hard lately..."

"What has been hard?"

"Just... saying stuff. It's been hard."

Elsa hugs herself around her midriff: no comfort there either—when was the last time she had any? She mulls this over and over again while a sinking sensation settles in her stomach. She feels like she can't breathe properly, as if fear were closing in on her lungs. It's what causes her voice to come out strangled when she says: "I'm sorry if you feel like you can't talk to me anymore."

"It's not you, Elsa."

"Clearly part of it is. You said so yourself."

Another pause; heavier than the last one. "I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't fair."

"I just want things to be like before," she says.

"Me too," Anna whispers. "But we can work on this. You and I, together. I know we can get through this." There is a spark of fearless hope in her voice that Elsa doesn't have the heart to pretend isn't there. It hadn't been in so long that its mere presence captures Elsa's attention enough that she doesn't notice the tear that has fallen until it traces a warm path down her cheek.

"Okay," she chokes out, pressing down on her eyelids.

"I love you, Elsa."

"I love you, too."

"Please don't lose your faith in me."

Another tear falls at this. "That's the last thing I could ever lose."

There is not much left to say after this. Anna has to get going and Elsa, too, realizes that she has been sitting outside of the electrical room for far too long. Words, what is left of them right now, do not suffice to convey the emotions that the soft and weary sound of their voices are holding back. They are not enough to hold what Elsa has been carrying for weeks, perhaps even months. So she lets Anna go, hopeful that this brief distance that separates them will help mend the heavy silence in which they both have fallen.

Let her have some of that fearless hope for once.

She remains unmoved for a few seconds after hanging up, entranced by the vapor that escapes her lips with every lengthy exhale. The wind brushes past her cheeks, colder still when it touches the dampened trails of her tears, until she stands up, wipes her cheeks, and leaves. She feels as though she were being propelled only by the faith and the hope and the love in her; all of them reflected on Anna rather than herself. _Empty._ That is the one word that echoes in her mind as she makes her way to the train station.

She takes the train that arrives the soonest and finds a seat far away from the doors. Her focus shifts to the window, obliterating her surroundings until the only thing she can register is what her eyes observe—her reflection staring back in every dark tunnel; the steel columns that become a blur as the train speeds through; shallow stations filled with the standing, waiting bodies of commuters; a news stand; then another; the signs at every stop: 96th Street, 86th Street, 77th Street. And with as little thought as she watches everything unfold, Elsa is driven to get off on 68th Street in order to take the train bound to Queens.

She is the only one to get off at Forest Hills, the only one to walk a street she has practically memorized by now, and the only one who stands outside of Castle Senior Center with the word empty once again reverberating in her mind.

The large house is warm but the stillness in its air takes away from its welcoming sensation. She mustn't have come this early, she thinks, but the moment she finds Theo standing alone in the room, leaning on her cane in front of a large shelf as she searches for a book, Elsa realizes that there is nowhere else she would have rather gone right now.

She calls out to her, and Theo turns around with an expression of delighted surprise already on her face. She allows herself to be swept up in a hug and smiles when Theo tells her how much she's missed her. Elsa hugs her tighter. She wants to say that she's missed her too, but the words get caught in her throat and suddenly the pent up emotions she's held back prevent her from speaking up. The heartache, the helplessness, the longing for Anna that has translated into each and every try comes crashing down on her so heavily that she breaks into a sob that catches her off guard. It is overwhelming; this pain that has started to reach the deepest, most hidden corners of her heart.

But Theo holds her without questions, with the same motherly instinct she's always had for her. She holds her tight for a few moments, cradling the back of her head until sobs become whimpers, and then shaky exhales.

"I'm sorry," Elsa says lamely. "So much for hello."

Theo places a hand below her chin. "Be unapologetic about every tear you shed."

Elsa nods weakly. She feels like a mess—looks like, probably—with her stuffy nose and reddened eyes induced by a lack of proper sleep and not so much a lack of tears. She should probably go home and get a better grip of herself, but Theo is already making her sit on the chair and walking away.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I'm bringin' you some tissues and making us both hot cocoa. You wait there."

"But let me help—"

"Shush. Wait there I said." She walks off after that, punctuating her grumbling words with her cane. "You doctors and your never-ending need to help."

Theo is gone for only a few minutes while Elsa manages to calm down and talk herself into a much coherent state of mind. Coherent enough, at least, to be able to stay away from another pitiful crying session. She ends up helping Theo carry the hot chocolate back to the drawing room because, Theo grumbles, she always forgets how useless she becomes when she has to carry that damn cane everywhere.

"Okay now," Theo says as she sits down, "What's going on, sweetheart?"

Elsa blows on her hot chocolate, more so to give herself time than because she's desperate to drink it. Where should she even begin? How much should she even say?

"Anna, she's—" Elsa pauses, and reconsiders. "I have been spending too much time at the hospital and it's... I think... it's been affecting our relationship."

The elder watches her closely. "But that's not everything, is it?"

She shakes her head. "She's shutting me out," she whispers, "and she's never done that before, and I don't know how to get her to talk to me like she used to. I have tried so many times, in so many different ways, but every time I do she just tells me that everything is okay when I know it isn't."

"Is she writing?" Theo asks.

"No, and I know that's a big part of it."

She hears Theo exhale even as she continues to focus on her hot chocolate.

"That's probably the _whole_ part, sugar."

"How?"

"When creating is your biggest joy, the misery that comes with being unable to do so is horrible," she says. "It sucks you in. It keeps you away from everything and everyone you love 'til your mind is all poisoned and you start to believe that tiny little voice that tells you you're never gonna be good enough."

"And how do you get out of that?"

"It's a one man's battle, honey. We all deal with it differently."

Elsa frowns. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"Be patient. And love her as hard as you already do."

Deflated, Elsa goes back to her hot chocolate.

"This ain't what you expected to hear is it?" Theo asks.

"Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting to hear. I'm just a messy pile of tears at this point."

The elder laughs softly before something else strikes Elsa's mind. "Am I being selfish?" she asks.

"Why would you think you're being selfish?"

"Because this is Anna's struggle," she responds. "What if by trying to help I'm just forcing myself into a situation I don't belong? What if I'm just being selfish?"

"I don't think there's a single bone in you capable of being selfish," Theo reassures her.

Elsa is reluctant to accept that answer but she does. She wants to think that everything she's done and everything she continues to do can one day help bring Anna back to herself. Because the last thing Elsa could ever lose is the faith she has in her.

Theo's hand then reaches across the table to rest on her wrist. It squeezes lightly, pleadingly, until Elsa's eyes connect with Theo's own. "Don't lose yourself, my love."

"I'm trying," Elsa murmurs.

"Remember, love is hard work."

Her jaw tightens. She can't allow herself to cry again. "I'm giving it everything I can."

She takes a couple of sips after this, seeking the slightest of comfort in the taste of warm chocolate in her mouth. How little it provides, however, when her sorrows feel too big.

"It ain't about how much you're willing to give for her," Theo finally says, "'cause I know without a shadow of a doubt that you would give everything for her. The question here is, how much are you willing to give for yourself?"

Elsa stays quiet before she looks out the window. The leafless, frigid branches of the trees move with the wind against the background of a colorless sky. Everything seems so cold; so desolate. _Empty_ , Elsa thinks for the third time that day before she looks back to Theo and realizes, with dread coursing through her veins, that she is unable to come up with an answer.

* * *

She has been planning this for more than two weeks, to the point where she can't think of anything else. Granted, there isn't much to plan at all—a simple surprise dinner; real candles; food cooked from scratch; a rich, smooth wine; some chocolate dessert, and a nice evening where they can be alone at home without any sort of disturbance. Yet, Elsa has been going around in circles with it for far longer than the time she used to spend studying for her college midterms. It's all in the details, Rapunzel keeps telling her, "And you need to make sure the candles aren't scented cause the smell can be distracting, or if they are then make sure it's not something like pumpkin spice cotton candy latte."

"That's not even a thing."

"But it is. I'm pretty sure I saw it at the pharmacy the other day. Oh, and the wine, are you getting red or white? Which one makes Anna sleepy?"

"White—no. Red. Or... both?" Elsa panics. "Should I not get wine at all?"

"Get both just in case."

Elsa nods frantically, jotting everything down on a post-it note:

_chocolate - what dessert? cake truffles ice cream?_

_candles - no cotton candy - unscented_

_wine - sleepy? both_

She's sitting at her desk, two days away from the surprise dinner, while Rapunzel paces back and forth with hands and denim overalls stained with dry acrylic paint.

"So if this is a surprise what are you gonna tell her to lure her in?"

Elsa stares at her. "She's... my girlfriend? I just told her to come over on Friday."

"Right, right. That's easy. But what if she has plans already?"

"She doesn't. I checked." She'd triple-checked, more so out of anxiety than anything else.

"And she doesn't suspect anything?"

"I don't think so. I've been casually checking in. She probably thinks we're just hanging out." She has been too distracted, Elsa thinks, to ask much more than how Elsa is doing. The thought of a romantic dinner being a surprise is probably not something that has even crossed her mind.

Rapunzel suddenly stops her pacing, studies Elsa for a second, and goes to sit on the bed. Her expression has become serious; a rare occurrence when it comes to her. "Are you guys doing okay?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

Elsa adverts her eyes.

"You've been acting different lately," her cousin points out. "And so has Anna—the little I've seen of her. I know you've been spending a lot of time at the hospital and half of the time you're probably just tired but... I don't know. I guess I just wanna make sure you're doing okay. Emotionally okay, I mean." When she is met with more silence, Rapunzel doesn't push it. "You don't have to tell me," she says, "but just know that I'm always here for you."

"Thank you," Elsa responds in a small voice. She doesn't want to go there. Not today.

She watches her cousin take a deep breath before she claps her hands in an attempt to lighten the mood. "So. What are we gonna cook for her?"

Elsa can't help but chuckle at this. " _We?_ "

"Is that not what you needed my help with?"

Turns out, she does end up helping Elsa with it. Or, at least, with helping her buy the ingredients she needs—a handful of them, too; Elsa had no idea what she got herself into when she Googled romantic dinner recipes—, and she doesn't realize either how much she's missed spending time with her cousin until they're both at the grocery store, chasing after each other with a cart that is half full of non-nutritious snacks and almost bare of the things she actually needs to make dinner. Pop-Tarts and potato chips for Rapunzel; two pints of Stracciatella gelato for Elsa. Can they get SunnyD? Gross, but okay. Did they pass the poultry section already? They did—must go back.

It is when Rapunzel starts working her way through the candy aisle that Elsa's cellphone rings in the back pocket of her jeans. At this time in the evening she expects it to be Anna—she always does, who else calls her?—but is thrown off when she sees Tracy's name on the screen instead.

She ignores it, and puts her phone away.

"Who that?" Rapunzel asks, coming back with two bags of Kisses in her hands.

"Tracy," she says, and then, "We are _not_ buying two bags of Kisses, Rapunzel."

"But Halloween is coming up," she whines.

"So? We live in an apartment. Kids never come knocking on our door."

Her cousin glares. "I never said it was for them." She throws one bag in the cart.

They've moved on to the next aisle when Rapunzel asks, "So why is Tracy calling you?"

"I don't know—"

Her phone rings again, and again Elsa checks the caller ID.

"Maybe you should just answer. The worst thing that could happen is that she gets annoying and you have to hang up on her."

Elsa is dubious, but the phone in her hand is still singing its silly little tune and she answers before thinking one more second about it.

"I was about to give up," Tracy says cheekily.

"Yeah, sorry. Um. Hi."

"How are you?"

"I'm okay," Elsa responds, tapping at the handle bar of the cart, itching already to get past this small conversation. "Just a little busy at the moment."

Tracy takes the cue. "I won't keep you long," she says. "Do you remember Josh? From the London group? Stupid tall, kinda awkward. He laughed a little too hard..."

"Yes, I remember."

"He has a birthday party next week. A bunch of others from that group are going and I was wondering if you wanted to join us. Anna can come too if you want."

Elsa frowns suspiciously at this even if the only person who gets to see it is a random lady on aisle eight. Embarrassed, she looks around. She's lost sight of her cousin. Again.

"I don't... I'm not sure if we can make it," she says honestly. "Anna has to work and I have wards coming up."

"No biggie," Tracy replies easily. "But hey, that coffee or tea thing still stands. Any time you're free and in the mood, just hit me up."

"I will, thank you." She makes a face. When _will_ she? This is why she prefers texting. She never knows what's going to come out of her mouth during a phone call.

When they hang up Elsa realizes that she has been standing on the same spot this whole time.

"How did it go?"

Startled, she looks around. "Where were you?"

"I was searching for the meaning of life," Rapunzel deadpans. "What did Tracy want?"

"She wanted to invite us to a birthday party."

"Us?"

"Anna and me."

Rapunzel stares bewildered.

"I know." Elsa pushes the cart forward, intent on finishing this grocery shopping spree without any more interruptions.

"You know," her cousin says as she catches up, "Maybe she really just wants to be friends."

"Maybe," she mumbles. But that is a musing for another day. There are more important matters at hand, like whether Elsa should get sparkling or just plain white wine, and whether or not she should let her cousin buy a twelve pack of Nissin noodles.

The remaining hours leading up to the dinner prolong themselves to an almost excruciating length. Elsa rereads the recipe and double checks that they've bought everything she needs to prepare the food. She dissects her closet very much like Anna would, searching for the ideal outfit. She showers, and takes longer than usual because she keeps getting distracted by her own excitement. She rearranges the candles in the living room three times and makes sure she has a spare lighter in case she loses one. She even wears the apron reserved for proper cooking, which happens about once or twice a year.

An hour before Anna is supposed to get off work there is a knock on the door and Elsa rushes to open it. Eugene is standing on the other side, with his forearm propped against the frame, attempting a smooth look.

"Came to pick up your weirdo cousin," he says.

There is a thump coming from Rapunzel's room. "I heard that!"

"How're you doing?" Eugene asks Elsa.

"I'm good," she breathes out just as her cousin steps out of her room. There is a quick peck on her cheek, a cheerful 'Have fun', and then Rapunzel is breezing out of the apartment and into Eugene's arms.

"Gay panic," Elsa hears her mumble as they leave.

"Pretty sure that's not how you use that phrase, babe."

She closes the door behind her with a smile and a roll of her eyes.

It is back to cooking. She checks the chicken in the oven before she sets out to whisk the cream. There is white wine in the recipe, and Elsa allows herself half a glass to calm her nerves. Or at least, she thinks, they are nerves. Buzzing expectation, perhaps; quiet excitement simmering right below the concentration she's mustering to cook all of this from scratch. Anna has no idea, and Elsa smiles at the picture that surges in her mind, of her walking into the living room and finding dinner set up in an ambiance adorned by candles and maybe, if Elsa is feeling extra cheesy, some romantic tune playing in the background.

At almost 6 PM, almost half an hour after Elsa expects to hear from Anna, she receives a phone call. It is her of course, and Elsa takes one last look at the oven before she answers.

"Hi," Anna says with subtle excitement.

Elsa's smile blossoms. "Hi, baby. Are you off work?"

"I am. Well I actually finished a little earlier but I got caught up talking to Lauren."

"That's okay. Are you coming over now?"

"I... well, that's the thing..."

Elsa sits slowly on the couch.

"Lauren invited me to this dinner party tonight," Anna continues, "It's supposed to have a bunch of important people attending, and she told me to come with her. Something of a confrère—that's literally the word she used—so I can meet all these people and maybe establish good connections with them. I'm really nervous about it but Lauren's gonna be there and Hans isn't, and I think I should go. What do you think?"

Elsa can't think, and that's the problem. All she feels is her heart sinking with every ecstatic, almost breathless word coming out of Anna's lips. It has been so long since she's sounded like this. So happy—so very much like herself—that Elsa doesn't have it in her to say no.

"If that's what you really want, I think you should go," she murmurs. She's physically withdrawn into herself, resting her elbows on her knees, covering her face with her hand.

"I don't know if... Do you want me to ask her if you can come too?"

Elsa shakes her head. Given her state of mind, her presence won't be anything but a burden. "No, it's okay," she says as she wills her voice to remain steady. "You have fun. You deserve it."

"I'm sorry this is so sudden. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Party plans are sometimes sudden," she says laconically.

There is a pause. "I'm really excited about this," Anna whispers into the phone, lowly but vehemently, and Elsa smiles despite herself.

"I can tell, baby," she breathes. "Just... have fun and take care of yourself, okay?"

"You know it." Her voice carries the quiet intimacy that Elsa knows too well. That same hushed tone that once reminded Elsa of what love was, tonight, it aches.

"Breakfast on me tomorrow," Anna continues, "Anything you'd like."

She exhales before she tries for an optimistic response, "That sounds like a plan."

There is a release that occurs the moment she is met with the clicking sound of their call ending. It is gradual but so, _so_ heavy; so laden with exhaustive emotions that Elsa feels it all well up inside of her from the deepest crevices of her soul until it reaches the brink of her break down. She leans back on the couch as she looks at the candles that now mock her with their presence; the bottles of wine that will go back to the cabinet and remain untouched for months; the single flower that she decided to buy at the very last minute. She looks at it all before her sight blurs and she feels the first of her tears begin to make its way down. Anna sounds happy, she tells herself, and that's what matters. Maybe this dinner wasn't meant to be had; maybe Anna was meant to find happiness elsewhere tonight.

Or maybe...

Maybe, she thinks with a sinking heart, it isn't just tonight anymore.

* * *

Elsa has always loved winter.

She has always taken pleasure in the ubiquitous coldness that makes warmth all the more comforting; in the way the streets are quelled almost to a stillness; in the quivering wind and the inviting lights of a home. In the way memories envelop her like snow does to the city. She has loved winter back when she was that kid too eager to play outside; sometimes with a friend, or her parents; oftentimes alone. She has loved winter because winter meant her birthday, and her birthday combined with Christmas meant double the presents. She has loved winter ever since she was a child and she loves winter now, at recently-turned twenty-six years old.

She spent half of her birthday working in the ER, and the other half with Anna, her cousin and the three guys Rapunzel decided to drunkenly refer to as the Wonderboy Trio—Sasha as their self-proclaimed leader. It was good; it was refreshing. It was exactly what Elsa needed to feel like not everything in her life was going terribly wrong. She had been content, at last, to be surrounded by so much love and to have Anna selflessly, albeit quietly, dote on her from start to finish. And then Christmas had come, followed by another New Year's spent on a rooftop, and life as Elsa once knew it started to regain a small sense of familiarity. A familiarity she would end up having to attribute to the holidays, because the moment normalcy caught up so too did everything else.

The traces of joy Elsa had seen sparkling in Anna's eyes had not perdured. They'd dwindled, only revealing themselves on the seldom occasions that Elsa managed to make her forget about everything else—far in between. That dinner party had only been a peak; a quasi happiness that had lasted a night and the few days that followed, like remnants of a good memory meant to be forgotten. Anna went back to her state of withdrawal while Elsa went back to trying; to her patience; to loving her as hard as she could.

Because Elsa loved winter, but she loved Anna even more.

And so it goes.

The first snowfall of the year happens on a Wednesday. It is a placid fall; gentle as it blankets Central Park and turns it into a serene, isolated landscape against the backdrop of a city that can never stay quite still. The sun has set, and the stony, icy paths have been illuminated while tree boughs carry the weight of freshly fallen snow by the time Elsa and Anna arrive that evening. They've come on a whim—a mutual decision to escape the routine they've been trapped in. Anna had showed up at her apartment without the desire to stay inside and Elsa, desperate to breathe non-sterile air for once, was already grabbing her coat by the time Anna was done considering the pros and cons of being out in the snow.

They tread alone, hand in hand, drawing comfort from the small silence that derives from great intimacy. Elsa glances at Anna in between brief moments of relishing the beauty of the park blanketed in snow. She observes with a tinge of amusement the slightly too-big-for-her-head purple beanie and its fluffy pompon pointing out to the sky, and smiles when Anna wipes the snowflakes off her rosy-colored nose with the back of her matching mittens. A small bird then flies across her line of sight before it pulls her attention back towards the path where it has landed, completely unaffected by how close they walk past it.

"I saw this bird today," Anna suddenly tells her, "on my lunch break. It was a black one. You know, the kind that looks like a crow but is probably not a crow? Anyway, it kept pecking at this crumpled plastic wrap over and over again. And at first I thought 'Maybe it has a thing for plastic' but the more it pecked at it the more attention it got from the other birds 'til they all started fighting over the plastic wrap. I felt bad at first because, you know, it was _plastic._ But I'm pretty sure they all knew 'cause it looked more like a bunch of kids fighting over a new toy. And this bird, the first one I saw, it kept being chased back and forth with it, jumping from one tree to another with that silly plastic wrap in its beak." She trails off with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know why I told you this, it sounds kinda dumb now."

"It's not dumb," Elsa responds, squeezing Anna's hand. "So who ended up keeping the shiny new toy?"

Anna smiles and looks down. "I'm not sure. It was a pretty tight brawl they were in."

"Maybe tomorrow you'll go back and find them fighting over something entirely different all over again."

"I guess. Maybe."

They walk for a little longer through the snowy path covered in the footsteps belonging to those who have come and gone before them. "Can you believe I've been working there for more than a year?" Anna says as an afterthought.

"Time goes by fast," Elsa points out.

"Way too fast sometimes."

They reach Gapstow Bridge and stall, both of them moving towards its parapet instead of crossing. From where they stand, the Plaza stands tall and proud behind naked, crooked branches of a tree while the rest of the park's south buildings take over the view as they reflect their lights on the frozen pond below them.

"You know, we've also been together for more than two," Elsa lightly comments, brushing the coat of powdery snow that covers the parapet.

The corner of Anna's lip twitches with a smile. "It feels like much longer than that."

"I hope you mean that in a good way," Elsa jokes.

"I mean it in the best way." She looks at the view ahead of them, missing the way Elsa's expression softens in the dim light. "Did you ever think you would find something like this? Like us?"

Elsa lowers her eyes and with a faint, but firm voice she responds, "No."

"I still remember the first time I saw you," Anna murmurs with a chuckle. "I had to keep myself from staring at you 'cause otherwise I would've fallen down those stairs."

"It was kind of dark," she recalls, "You probably would have tripped anyway."

Anna's laugh is a quiet one. "I think I almost did."

"I remember how beautiful you looked even in those cheap lights," she tells her. "And I remember telling myself, 'I cannot leave this party without talking to that girl.'"

"You were too charming to resist."

Elsa reacts to this with a quiet laugh before the moment lulls. She watches Anna looking ahead, and is suddenly overcome by emotion. She takes her in: the softness washed by the city lights; the rosy pink of her nose and cheeks; the gentle blue of her eyes brimming with nostalgia—missing, perhaps just like Elsa, what they used to have.

And suddenly, Elsa fells like she is already living a memory.

"A lot has changed... hasn't it?" she asks weakly.

"It has."

"Not all of it for the better."

The response comes in the faint shake of Anna's head.

Elsa closes her eyes for longer than a second. Without speaking, she reaches out for Anna's hand before she tugs shyly, drowning in her desperation for a hug. She buries her nose in the girl's hair the moment she's in her arms, and breathes slowly, in and out. She can feel Anna pulling her closer, burying herself in the crook of Elsa's neck. And for a moment, brief but absolutely perfect, Elsa feels her heart swell with nothing but love. There is no sadness in her. No sorrow, nor tears. Not a single thing in this world capable of pulling them apart.

But like all things in life, it cannot be permanent.

"Anna," she breathes, "I need to ask you something."

The girl nods against her shoulder, but Elsa has to take a few fearful, shaky breaths and almost a full minute before she can push three simple words out of her lips: "Are you happy?"

There is a second in which nothing happens. But then Anna's arms are tightening around her shoulders, and no response comes. There is not a nod, nor a breathed out yes. There is nothing at all except for the painful realization carried by her silence. And as slowly as the snow continues to fall from the sky until it reaches the frozen pond, so does Elsa start to feel the exact moment her heart begins to break.


	31. I wish you happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your response to the previous chapter was truly astounding. THANK YOU. i kept in mind every single one of your reactions to what's been going on in the story, now i can only hope i've done this justice. i've given my all.
> 
> big kudos to Dulce. you keep me sane and afloat, and i love you beyond everything.
> 
> also, i recommend you guys listen to Needed by Rhye and also Dream for Dreaming by Patrick Watson for this chapter, and as always take care of yourselves and stay safe.

Anna remembers the first time she visited Central Park as clearly as if it had been yesterday.

It happened on the summer of her fourteenth birthday. One hot, smoldering July. She remembers how often her mother complained about the heat. How often she would mumble, "We should have come for Christmas instead," and how her father would always say, "It's not that bad. Just wear one of the dozen dresses you brought with you." They would bicker often, she remembers that, too, and at times she would wonder if that was how all married couples were. Then again, she'd think, she was only fourteen. What did she know about love?

The trip was supposed to be a vacation. A belated birthday present, her mother told her. Although if she asked her father he would respond with, "A small trip before you start high school." Anna wasn't sure who was telling the truth until she started to believe that neither of them were. So she went along with it; with her belated birthday/pre-high school present. They visited all the landmarks just like every proper tourist would—minus the cargo shorts, the New Balance tennis shoes and the I Heart NY t-shirts they sold in midtown and on every corner of Times Square. They went up the observation deck on the Rockefeller, where her father discovered, at last, that heights made him dizzy. _Don't you work on the tenth floor?_ Anna had wanted to ask. But what good would have come of that? They took the train down to Wall Street where both her parents felt right at home but Anna nearly died of boredom, and they enjoyed dinner one night in Little Italy. Her favorite part of the trip, if she remembers correctly. Both her parents had loosened up with the red wine their server had convinced them to order. They were laughing, the three of them, and Anna felt whole and happy. Just like every teenager should.

But for some reason, the part that she recalls the most is Central Park. It felt like the hottest day of the trip. Her cotton shirt kept sticking to her sweaty back and the soles of her feet were sore already from the endless amount of walking they'd done since arriving to New York ("If you do not walk here, you did not visit at all," one taxi driver told them). Her whole nose peeled from that day alone and she remembers how irrationally scared she was that she would lose her freckles along with her skin. But despite it all, Anna's excitement did not dwindle. She remembers being fascinated by how big the park was, with its endless amount of trees, its ponds, its small hills where people would lie down and look up at the sky. She remembers this was the first time she wished she could live in New York.

The problem that day had not been the heat, nor the faint smell of manure left behind by the carriage horses, nor the fact that she thought she would lose her freckles forever. The problem had been herself. Or so she thought, for many years. She was hungry; too hungry to wait for her parents to decide on another upscale restaurant. She wanted to try a hot dog, she'd said. One of those hot dogs they show on cop movies where the detective has to solve a crime but first he must munch on a hot dog sold on the street. Spicy brown mustard, sauerkraut, the whole shebang. She wanted that experience, but she did not want to try it alone. So she convinced her mother to try it with her, so that maybe in the future she could come to her with a smile and say, "Remember that amazing hot dog we had in New York?"

All she wanted was someone to share that memory with.

Instead, what she ended up with was guilt. Because her mother caught food poisoning from that hot dog. Anna had always wondered _why_ she didn't get it too. She wondered for the rest of that day, while her mother had to spend it rushing between the bathroom and the bed, not talking to Anna, never once saying, "It wasn't your fault." She wanted to think she didn't have the mind for it. Who thinks about comforting someone else when they're clinging to the toilet seat, spilling out the contents of their stomach? But that childish hope remained right along with the thought that she had caused it. Because she felt like she had ruined the whole trip and no one—not her mother clutching her stomach, nor her father giving her sympathetic looks—told her that she didn't. And this is what she held on to. Heavy and sickening, like a drop in the pit of one's stomach. The same type of guilt that Anna has now been carrying for weeks, unable to put an end to it.

She's come to think of it as a vicious cycle, often with contempt towards herself. Because what good is it to know you're doing something wrong when you're unable to turn it off like the light controlled by a switch? What good is it to know the words if she's unable to pin them to her own emotions?

She wishes someone had told her when she was fourteen that almost ten years later she would be feeling the same way. That it wouldn't be a summer afternoon, but a cold night in Central Park. And that by then guilt would have taken root in her heart so deeply that it would come to taint every action and every word of hers. Because maybe if she had known, Anna would have done a lot of things differently.

It is this which crosses her mind as they continue to walk in the light snow that covers the park. She thinks of the way guilt often swells and, like the tide of the sea, it comes in waves. She thinks with sorrow of everything she's put Elsa through as she tries to focus on the comfort brought by the touch of her hand even through the fabric of the mittens; in the gentle squeezes Elsa gives her from time to time, so that Anna will look at her and find her smiling.

She realizes that they have been walking like this for a while, in silence and without a destination, until a bird flies across from them and lands on the path with fluttering wings. It twists a bit, searching for a spot beneath its wing with its beak. Anna wonders if it's cold, or hungry. And then it hits her.

"I saw this bird today," she says, her voice low and unconfident. "On my lunch break. It was a black one. You know, the kind that looks like a crow but is probably not a crow?" She pauses to gather her thoughts. "Anyway, it kept pecking at this crumpled plastic wrap over and over again. And at first I thought 'Maybe it has a thing for plastic' but the more it pecked at it the more attention it got from the other birds 'til they all started fighting over the plastic wrap. I felt bad at first because, you know, it was _plastic._ But I'm pretty sure they all knew 'cause it looked more like a bunch of kids fighting over a new toy. And this bird, the first one I saw, it kept being chased back and forth with it, jumping from one tree to another with that silly plastic wrap in its beak." She trails off, thinking all of the sudden how unnecessary it was to say all of this. So she shrugs, dismissing herself. "I don't know why I told you this, it sounds kinda dumb now."

"It's not dumb," Elsa responds, squeezing her hand. "So who ended up keeping the shiny new toy?"

She smiles, grateful. "I'm not sure. It was a pretty tight brawl they were in."

"Maybe tomorrow you'll go back and find them fighting over something entirely different all over again."

"I guess. Maybe."

This brings her forward to tomorrow. She's stopped wondering what mood Hans will be in day after day, partly because she is tired of giving him any more thought than he deserves but also because he has been in a relatively decent mood lately. She doesn't ask herself why; if perhaps she's been doing something better or if he's finally fixing whatever had a stick up his ass. She does not care to know. She goes to work empty-minded and detached, but wonders, too, if this is more her fault than anyone else's.

"Can you believe I've been working there for more than a year?" she says as an afterthought.

"Time goes by fast," Elsa responds.

"Way too fast sometimes."

When they reach Gapstow Bridge, Anna doesn't know who moves first, but they find themselves leaning against its parapet rather than crossing to the other side.

"You know," Elsa says, "We've also been together for more than two."

Anna smiles. "It feels like much longer than that."

"I hope you mean that in a good way."

"I mean it in the best way." She looks ahead of them, at the buildings and their glimmering reflections on the pond. "Did you ever think you would find something like this?" she asks. "Like us?"

Elsa's voice is soft when she says, "No."

"I still remember the first time I saw you. I had to keep myself from staring at you 'cause otherwise I would've fallen down those stairs."

"It was kind of dark. You probably would have tripped anyway."

"I think I almost did." She feels Elsa shift closer, watches from the corner of her eye as she moves the snow on the surface of the parapet around.

"I remember how beautiful you looked even in those cheap lights," Elsa then tells her. "And I remember telling myself, 'I cannot leave this party without talking to that girl.'"

"You were too charming to resist," she says.

Elsa laughs a little before she falls quiet. The snow, nothing but a light powder by now, continues to fall upon them as the moment stretches itself and Anna begins to feel the weight of nostalgia pressing down on her chest. She can feel Elsa's eyes on her but shame and guilt keep her from looking back. There is so much she yearns for. So many memories she wishes would come back to life so that she can remember what they once had and who she once was. Because she _misses_ herself, and she grieves for this empty shell she's now become. This person whom Elsa refuses to stop loving and whom Anna doesn't think is worthy of it any longer.

And she asks herself: how did she even get here?

Elsa is facing her fully by now and Anna doesn't have to look just yet to know that she's hurting. "A lot has changed," she says quietly, "Hasn't it?"

She swallows thickly. "It has."

"Not all of it for the better."

Anna feels breathless. She feels like her heart is being gripped and torn into a million pieces when she responds with a weak shake of her head. And she hates herself for it, immensely and without a doubt, because she is sure this is all her fault.

And then Elsa is reaching out, tugging shyly at her hand, pulling her in for a hug so painfully tender that it has Anna nearly bending at the knees. She feels Elsa burrow into her neck before she pulls her closer still. She wants this moment to come to a standstill, for Elsa to forgive her for all the things she has not said and for everything she has stopped doing. She wants them to go back to the way things were; to two years ago, when time was not an issue, nor responsibilities, nor unfulfilled dreams. She wants to go back to the days when love was the only thing she needed to be fearless and all she needed was to look into Elsa's loving eyes to find the confidence to speak.

"Anna," she whispers near her ear, "I need to ask you something."

Anna nods weakly, without moving another fragment of her body. The only thing she hears for a while is the distant cacophony of the city, the incessant rumbling, the honking. But all of it is drowned out the moment she hears Elsa take a deep breath and ask: "Are you happy?"

She closes her eyes. _I'm sorry,_ she wants to say, but the words get caught in her throat. Nothing is passing; it's been shut by the tears welling up in her eyes. _I'm sorry,_ she thinks again, _I'm so sorry._ She tightens her arms around Elsa's shoulders, clinging with her entire being as she chokes on her own sorrow. She has never been able to lie to her, and she made them promise. So long ago, Anna promised, never once thinking it could ever be true; never once imagining that it would be her the one to break both of their hearts.

* * *

She wakes up to a cold and empty bed the next morning. Her eyelids are droopy and puffy: she's cried herself to sleep.

Going their separate ways for the night had been Elsa's idea. She'd proposed it with a soft but weary voice, after they both stepped back from their embrace and she had found her under no condition to speak. Anna was shaking, suddenly freezing, while Elsa, solemn above everything, wiped the wet trails on her cheeks and said, "We can talk about this tomorrow." She had nodded despite herself, convincing herself that this was for the best. She could clear her mind; she could go through all the things she needed to tell Elsa to keep her from thinking this had been her fault.

Anna presses the tips of her fingers against her shut eyes. She'll need to do something about this puffiness, she thinks. The last thing she needs is for Hans to get curious. She then reaches for the pillow by her side, pulls it closer and buries her nose in it. It no longer smells like Elsa and it makes her wonder when was the last time she spent the night. She thinks: a week, perhaps more. The nights they have spent together lately have been at Elsa's apartment. Anna had insisted—she'd wanted her to have that extra time of sleep on mornings she needed to rush to the hospital. It has made her own apartment feel foreign, however. As if nothing kept her grounded in it anymore. Not her books, nor her notebooks, not the pictures she's pinned to the boards on her walls in an attempt to always remind herself that life is full of moments worth remembering.

She sits up, patting the mane on her head. At least _that_ hasn't changed. She stands up, drags her feet all the way to the bathroom. She has half a mind to call in sick today but then remembers Hans saying something about an important person flying in from Los Angeles this morning. She'd had to make reservations at the Russian Samovar—for three, which nearly made her choke on the mint she was chewing on. She was confused as to why Hans wanted her to accompany him all of the sudden. "It's a surprise," he'd said, grinning as he leaned back in his La-Z Boy and kicked his feet up on the desk. It was something he did not do often, but something that Anna had come to dislike. He meant shady business when he did that.

So why, she wonders, is she still making an effort to look a notch above nice today?

Anna showers and gets dressed before she finds her way back to the mirror. She's chosen to pull her hair up today, and as she begins to braid her hair with distracted automaticity, her mind drifts and becomes uncentered again. It goes back to Elsa and to last night's implications, but the deeper Anna delves the tighter the grip around her throat becomes. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, until the hardened eyes into which she stares become someone else's and she is not able to recognize herself anymore. Yet, she pushes down her fear with stubborn resolution. Something's got to give, she thinks. Because she doesn't know how much longer she can go on like this.

She messages Elsa as she waits for the train on 14th Street. It is an unassuming good morning text but one, too, that feels out of place. _Hypocrite_ is the word she would use to describe herself with enough bitterness to poison herself. It is the one word that she keeps coming back to as she goes through the first few hours of the day.

She keeps wondering how Elsa is feeling, wishing, all of the sudden, that they had stayed together last night and talked. But she is so tired of dissecting every bit of her past, so tired of the what ifs, that she chooses to let go of that thought. They will talk tonight, she reassures herself in the crooks of silence found in her conversations with Hans; in the prolonged pauses she takes to type rejection letter after rejection letter. Over and over, she reassures herself, because that is the only thing she's been capable of doing lately.

Half an hour before their reservation at the Samovar Anna calls the black car service and orders a ride. She'd loved doing that at the beginning: riding in black unmarked cars instead of the yellow taxis you could just hail at the curbside. It made her feel special, important; like she was someone.

The Russian Samovar is an upscale restaurant and piano bar right around the corner of Times Square but completely isolated from tourists. It attracts Broadway investors, actors and producers, and one or two Wall Street white-collars looking to get out of their usual dining spot on the 60th floor of the Manhattan Plaza. Anna hears a nondescript piano tune as soon as they step in—she in the front because Hans may be a hot-and-cold jackass sometimes but he never fails to open the door for her—. The indecipherable, buzzing sound of conversations fills her ears. The lighting is dim; reddish in color due to lamp shades that cover every bulb hanging from the ceiling. Anna doesn't understand how it can be so dark inside when it is only 2 PM outside until she realizes that there are no windows lining up the walls, but framed, vintage-looking photographs, none of which she has the time to stop and observe. Hans takes the lead eventually, reminding her that she is nothing more than a following assistant.

They walk towards the back, guided by a host whose shirt collar is buttoned up so close to his Adam's apple that Anna wonders if he doesn't have a hard time swallowing. This worry flies out of her mind, however, when she sees who's sitting at the corner, his arms outstretched so as to cover as much of the burgundy booth as they can and a protruding stomach clad in a pristine, white button-up.

She stares at Mr. Frank with a mixture of distaste and contempt that she half hopes he catches under the darkened lights.

"You two are late," he says without moving to greet them.

Next to her, Hans chuckles. "No, boss. You're early."

There is a beat in which the two men stare at each other before Mr. Frank throws his balding head back in a laugh. It is a cackling sound, short but boisterous, and Anna is horrified. She has never heard anything so obnoxious in her life. _I should have called in sick_ , she thinks as she slides across the booth and sits to the man's right—enough space in between them to set up a small business. Hans sits on the other side of him, uncaring about the distance. Of course, he doesn't have to worry about some middle-aged creep taking a peek down his cleavage.

"Mr. Frank, you remember Anna, don't you?"

"Of course I do," he rasps, "How could I forget such a strongminded young girl?" He turns to her, leering, and in the action Anna catches the imposing scent of his cologne. "Your boss has told me a lot about you."

This doesn't stir her curiosity. "Has he?" she says.

"All good things," he reassures her, sharing a glance with Hans that she wishes she had missed.

A waiter comes by the table. Mr. Frank orders another Scotch for himself, Hans orders a whiskey straight, and Anna orders water despite the insistence of others. The two men talk business in the meantime while she lets her attention drift elsewhere. She has no idea why she's here, acting as the third party whom no one pays attention to but the waiter who has to. When the drinks arrive, Anna reaches for her glass. She's about to touch her lips to the rim when she catches the men with the intention of cheering. She feels embarrassed; stupidly out of place; but cheers anyway with a tight-lipped smile and her eyes downcast.

She wants lunch to be over already.

"So, Anna," Mr. Frank says post-burp, "How are you liking working for this man?"

She glances his way, then at Hans. "It's been good."

"Any mishaps?" he prods.

"... No." It comes out sounding almost like a question. There have been some small bumps along the road, but what does he want? A list?

"You're scaring her, boss," Hans says with a chuckle. He sounds condescending, as if Anna were nothing but a child. It's what drives her to sit straighter and lift her chin up, unwilling to let either one of them stomp on her pride.

"I haven't been perfect," she says, "but if there had been any considerable mishaps I'm sure Hans would have let me know."

"And I did," Hans remarks, lessening the jab by taking a sip off his lowball.

"There's much to learn from him," Mr. Frank says.

"I've been learning."

" _Especially_ if you strive to get somewhere in life," he continues as if she hadn't spoken. "You can't get anywhere with some grit and this guy has plenty. Spend enough time with him and maybe you'll have some too."

Anna suddenly feels, coming from the deepest, most darkest corner of her soul, the desire to strike Mr. Frank in the face. She could reach for the hard-cover menu that's been sitting ignored on the table and hit him with everything she's got. But instead she reaches for her water and takes a sip. Her time will come, she thinks; hopes.

Mr. Frank plows on. "I've known this young man since he was nothing more than the coffee guy in our LA offices. He flirted with every girl he could find, secretaries, agents, you name it—he didn't discriminate—, but once it came down to proving himself he did just that." A few feet away from her Hans is acting up the humble part. Anna fights the urge to roll her eyes. "And that was, what, only six years ago?"

"Five and a half," Hans says, pride leaking in his voice. It makes Anna think of those newbie moms that are asked about their babies' ages. 'He is forty-three days old,' they gush at anyone with ears. _Just say a month, Janet._

Mr. Frank takes a drink. "I'm sure if given enough time he'll be nipping at Lauren's heels." Another drink; the golden ring around his pinky gleams every time he knocks the glass back. "She should watch out."

Anna frowns. "Why should she be watching out? The agency is practically hers."

"It's her father's," the man points out. "Big difference."

"That's hardly a big difference. At least in New York, you say Hoffman and they think Lauren. She's made a name for herself. I'm sure she won't be going anywhere just because someone's nipping at her heels." Anna clams her mouth shut, suddenly realizing that by defending Lauren she has undermined Hans's work. But there's nowhere to go now, no way to take a hold of her words and tuck them back inside. All that's left is the look Hans gives her, cold but unreadable, until heat prickles the back of her neck.

It is only when the waiter comes to take their orders that he looks away and Anna decides that she wouldn't take any of it back even if she could. To hell with it. If he wants his ass kissed he'll have to go to this creep over here.

At a loss of apetite she orders a small entrée: Siberian Pelmeni. The waiter sets the plate before her—one of those large ones that are more white ceramic than food—and she wonders, is stuffing bits of dough with all kinds of food a universal thing?

Mr. Frank doesn't bring up the subject again until the food has been served. "You seem to have a pretty strong opinion about Lauren Hoffman," he says as he surveys his sizzling steak.

"I admire her," Anna responds, hating the way her voice sounds tentative even to her own ears.

"Yet you could have stayed quiet and you didn't." He then turns to Hans as he reaches for his freshly poured glass of Scotch. "That's why I like her."

The men stare at each other for an interval, carrying a silent conversation Anna isn't privy to. "Am I missing something?"

Hans wipes his mouth, takes his time chewing. He then spreads his arms over the back of the booth and gives her a small, satisfied smile. "He wants you to work for him."

"I'm sorry?"

"Think about it," says Mr. Frank, "You'll get to work for me in LA, get to know some pretty big names there. And with the income I'm willing to give you you could afford yourself a nice apartment in West Hollywood. I hear that's the type of environment you like." Anna's stomach drops. She glances at Hans. She feels betrayed.

"But why me?"

"I'm desperate for a girl who's not just a pretty face. I need _brains_. So I talked to Zimmerman over here because he seems to know every girl in LA, and he was kind enough to offer up his own assistant."

_Offer up._ Anna wrings the tablecloth on her lap. She feels sick, like an object being used up, discarded and forgotten; like a person meant to be looked down upon. But most of all, she feels enraged. Because she is none of those things. It makes her want to quit right there, to forget everything about these two men for whom she holds nothing more than contempt at this point. But these are words that form and do not leave her mouth. She can't just quit and remove the leverage she has below her feet.

Yet, she still has the power to make a decision right now.

"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Frank, but I'm afraid I can't take it."

The man clears his throat, casting a glance at Hans and then at her. "And why is that?"

"Because I'm not interested in moving to Los Angeles," she states with a voice that slowly takes on strength. "New York has been my home for years and this is where I belong." Anna inevitably thinks of Elsa. She thinks of all the things she would leave behind if she were to leave New York and it hits her, despite everything going on right now, that moving would never have been an option.

"You won't get anywhere without some sacrifices," Mr. Frank tells her. She is so sick of that word.

"I don't think I'm sacrificing anything, sir. What you think I may find there, I've already found here."

"And I think you're making a mistake," he concludes before he knocks back his Scotch. That was his meal all along, not the steak. "I'll give you some time to think about it."

To argue would be futile. She doesn't need the time; she will never once consider it.

Across from her, Hans goes on watching. His green eyes are unsettling even though they don't disclose a thing. So she focuses on her food instead, moving it around with her fork and only forcing herself to eat three more pieces of pelmeni until she can't do it anymore. The men continue to eat. They have moved on to other matters, unperturbed by her distress. She figures that's how it's always been for them: use, discard and forget.

Another hour must have passed before they decide to call for the check. Hans pays for it and leaves a generous tip, just like he always has. Out of the booth and out of the restaurant, Mr. Frank steps closer to Anna. He's going for a kiss on the cheek but Anna does what she recalls Lauren doing at the party so long ago: she takes a small step back, grabs hold of his hand and shakes it firmly.

"Think about it," he tells her, concealing his displeasure.

"Sure," she responds.

There is a car waiting for them as well, and Anna doesn't think twice about stepping inside without another look back. Hans joins her seconds later with a grunt followed by a sigh. He tells her he's stuffed and she smiles without corresponding; she barely ate. The car rolls slowly into the traffic before it makes its way back to the office. It is silent for minutes on end until Anna speaks out.

"If you wanted me to get out of your way you could have just fired me," she says lowly, drawing from exhausted courage.

Hans chuckles humorlessly. "I'm not interested in firing you, Anna. I saw an opportunity for you and thought you might appreciate it."

Anna doubts that to be true but doesn't seek to refute it. Hot tears of frustration well up in her eyes, causing her to look out the window and inhale through her nose. She refuses to let Hans see her like this.

"Look," Hans adds, "if you don't want to take the offer then don't. The guy has plenty of girls at his disposal. But don't let it pass you by just because something—or someone—is holding you back. That's no way to succeed."

The moment swells with silence. She feels as though she were fighting a thousand battles with herself, with every part of her that insists on reminding her that she is not good enough; that she needs to give more—to _be_ more. But how many versions of herself does she have to be in order to please everyone else? And how many of those versions are real?

"There's something you should always keep in mind," Hans says after a while, not bothering to look back at Anna when she turns towards him. "Everyone in life is replaceable. Frank is replaceable. Lauren Hoffman... Even you."

* * *

Anna knocks on the door, and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

She waits outside of apartment 204, wringing her gloves. She knocks again. A minute, perhaps more, passes before she pulls out her phone. She rereads the message she received from Elsa when she got off the train: _Just finished I'll be there soon. Rap should be home already._ Anna raises her hand and knocks again, more tentatively. She will only try this time,

or else she waits.

No one opens the door.

Anna goes to sit on the stairs, all the way to the side so that she's not in anybody's way (she stands up anyway when she sees a woman coming up with two grocery bags, half-berating herself for not offering to help) and starts thinking about everything she wants to say to Elsa. She wonders if she should have made a list until she realizes how messy her thoughts are even in her own head. How tragic, she thinks, that she can't even write lists anymore. There is the sound of a door opening behind her and Anna whips her head around. It is Elsa's neighbor, from apartment 205. A nice, albeit unheeding old man whose name now escapes her. He'd knocked on the door once, when she and Elsa were a little too busy making out on the couch. He'd knocked and knocked, similarly to the way Anna just did. He wanted to discuss something with Elsa. "Can't this wait, Mr. Something?" she'd heard Elsa ask. She sounded flustered and impatient even from afar. Anna had sniggered. He insisted. "Are you allergic to cats? I want to buy a cat but I want to make sure you're not allergic." A pause. "No, Mr. Something," she'd responded, "We are not allergic to cats."

He now greets her as she stands up once more to let him by. He appears a bit older: the skin on his cheeks sags a little and his left hand shakes erratically when he reaches for the handrail of the stairs. Anna wonders if he ever did get that cat, but as he goes down the stairs she sees white pet hair stuck to the back of his coat. For some reason this makes her smile.

She sits down again. And waits. She wants to tell Elsa how she's been feeling; tell her about the collection of hopes, petty anxieties, disillusions, and random fears that make her; to muster it all into words and release them along with the weight that's been holding her down for so many months. If she had the chance, she thinks she would be able to breathe a little better. And perhaps Elsa, too, would be able to let go of this misplaced guilt, so that Anna can finally grab a hold of it and take it as her own.

More time passes and another door opens somewhere downstairs. A hunch announces the person coming up the stairs and it is not wrong. Elsa reaches the landing, turns, and stops. Anna stands up even though Elsa doesn't move. They look at each other without speaking, two pairs of eyes conveying very similar fears and very similar longings. And then Elsa is moving, walking up the stairs slowly, one at a time, and Anna is brought to the beginning of it all. _Remember,_ she wants to say, _remember when the thought of us was still nothing more than a wish._

Elsa stops before her, one step lower, and brings her hands out of the pockets of her coat. A moment later, Anna will have her arms wrapped around her shoulders. She can feel the way Elsa melts into the embrace, as if she were crumbling. It makes Anna hold on tighter, cradle the back of her head as she burrows deeper and rests against her chest. Anna knows she is listening to her heart as it hammers inside, searching to get out.

"Why are you not inside?" she hears her ask.

"Raps isn't home."

A pause. "I'm sorry," Elsa says, "I should have checked with her first before telling you to come right away."

"I didn't mind waiting," Anna responds. She means it.

Elsa steps back and it is then that she finally takes her in. There are faint lines of exhaustion below her clear, blue eyes. Her cheeks are reddened from the cold and her hair is down but disheveled by the wind outside. She is still wearing her dark blue scrubs underneath her black coat.

"We should go inside," Elsa tells her.

The apartment is dark but warm. Anna follows her through the hallway as if it were the first time she were stepping inside. As if she hadn't been coming here for more than two years. Elsa turns on the lights in the living room but doesn't stop until they enter her bedroom.

"I need to get out of these scrubs," she announces, "but... you know." She gestures at the bed and Anna nods to let her know she's understood. On any other day neither of these things would have had to be established. Anna would have gone straight to her room, plopped herself on the bed and watched her girlfriend undress. Tonight, she sits quietly while Elsa hesitates before she steps out of her scrubs and changes into shorts and a sweatshirt. She doesn't cast Anna any alluring looks and Anna can only watch for so long before averting her eyes.

Elsa leaves for a few minutes and she is driven to look around. Anna sees by the window the potted plant she gave her on her 24th birthday—Virginia, like Woolf. Spring is coming: it should bloom soon. She sees a pile of books and textbooks on her desk, next to her computer. The only disarranged thing in this room. She remembers how often she would tease Elsa about it: "And you say _I'm_ messy." Anna bites her lip at the thought. She wishes... for something. To be elsewhere, maybe. A place that doesn't drown her in memories.

She goes on looking.

Behind her, on the nightstand, Neruda's pink book. Anna sucks in a breath. She had not seen it in a while, although she knew where Elsa kept it. She stands up and walks towards it. The cover remains intact, as if it were barely read. But its spine and its gutter reveal that it's been leafed through many times. It opens where Anna had expected, on the poem she once marked for Elsa.

_I have named you queen..._

"I was reading it last night."

Anna turns around to find Elsa standing by the door. She is looking down at the book in her hands, arms crossed over her torso in a posture Anna knows too well.

"It's been a while." She pauses. "I mean I hadn't seen it in a while."

Elsa nods, but says nothing. She steps in and softly closes the door before she goes to sit on the bed next to where Anna is still standing. The action drives her to do the same.

After a moment of quietude, Anna speaks. "I got offered a job in LA today."

Elsa looks at her. Something flashes across her eyes too quickly for Anna to discern. "And what did you say?"

"I said no."

"Oh."

"He insisted. That guy, Mr. Frank, remember him? The misogynist prick from the other time. He said he wanted someone pretty and smart and that Hans had offered me to him. Can you believe it?"

But Elsa doesn't react and Anna doesn't know whether she believes it or not. She shouldn't have started that way, she thinks. Elsa was too quick. Her walls have already gone up.

"I didn't even consider it," she tries, "I don't... I don't know if that makes it any better."

"I would have respected your decision anyway," Elsa murmurs, "Whatever that was."

Something heavy presses against Anna's chest as she reaches for her hand and intertwines their fingers together. She takes a breath, her thumb grazing the soft skin of Elsa's hand. She's trying to put everything together in her mind. Emotions. Words. She needs to get them out tonight, once and for all.

"Elsa..."

The girl lifts her head up. It is in that pair of eyes that Anna finds the courage to speak.

"There are so many things I want to say that I don't even know where to start. But I guess... what you need to know more than anything right now is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for shutting you out. I'm sorry because you keep trying and I keep failing you. And I'm sorry..." Her voice breaks and Anna needs to take another deep breath before continuing. "I'm _so_ sorry for hurting you as much as I have. You need to know that I love you, Elsa, more than anything in this world."

Elsa nods weakly. "I love you, too," she breathes, her eyes already brimming with tears.

"I want to fix this. I _need_ to fix this." Another deep breath. She is searching, like a scavenger, amidst the crumbled pieces of her heart. "I know that there's a lot I need to work on, and I know that the longer I go on like this the more I'll hurt the both of us. But I feel stuck, Elsa, and I don't even know how I got here. I can feel it. I'm not myself. But every time I try to figure myself out it's as if I were trying to figure out a stranger."

"Is it because you can't write?" Elsa asks.

She stares down at the carpeted floor, at their hands connected and resting on her lap. Anna remembers the first time she'd felt their hands intertwining; how much it'd felt like coming home. "I feel like that's barely a part of it at this point," she mutters. "I used to wake up every day ready to take on anything, you know? I was determined. Even on crappy days I used to think 'It'll pass' and I'd be okay and things would only last so long. But now I see no end to it."

Elsa says nothing, and Anna realizes it is because she's allowing her the time to get everything out. So she presses on. "My dreams sound stupid now. Writing seems like a waste of time but without it I feel empty. Meanwhile everyone talks about success and sacrifices and getting to the top, but I'm just so sick of thinking that I've been sacrificing everything for nothing. I'm _exhausted._ "

"You're not alone, Anna."

Her heart sinks as she rests her head on Elsa's shoulder, sighing heavily. "I know I have you. But it's not... it's inside of me, Elsa. I carry it around everywhere I go, whether I'm alone or not. How does someone fix something like that?"

"I don't know, baby," Elsa murmurs, "I wish I could give you the answers you're looking for. I wish... I wish I could take all of this away from you and make you see yourself the way I see you."

Anna swallows the lump in her throat. The back of her eyes are beginning to burn. Her eyesight is becoming blurry with unshed with tears. "I feel like everything I do lately is never good enough. So I just go through the days wishing for the next one to come. Just... wishing I'll wake up feeling different. Like that one day of the party with Lauren. I remember being excited about it and thinking that things were finally going back to how they used to be. But it didn't really last."

She senses Elsa's demeanor shift and harden at that moment, as if somehow Anna had struck a chord. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Did I say something wrong?"

The blonde shakes her head. "No, it's not important. This is about you."

She touches Elsa's cheek, gently turning her face towards her. "Anything you feel is important. This is about _us_."

A few seconds pass. "The day of the party," Elsa starts lowly, "I was planning a dinner for you."

Anna blinks, trying to process this. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted to surprise you. But then you called and you sounded so happy, I couldn't bring myself to say anything."

"God, I'm such an idiot," she mumbles. "I thought we were only hanging out. I would have come if you had told me you'd planned something for us."

"But that's why I didn't tell you. I know you would have come and I didn't want you to regret not going to that party."

"Elsa..." But Elsa doesn't respond. She only withdraws further into herself, protective and quiet. And after all of this, how could Anna blame her? So she gets off the bed, gets on her knees and gives Elsa no chance to look anywhere but at her. "I would have skipped that party in a heartbeat. If I'd known... I wouldn't have thought twice about it." She brings her head down, ashamed and regretful. "I'm so sorry."

A pair of hands touches her face before Elsa gently forces her to look up. There are so many emotions swarming below the surface of her eyes that Anna feels she could drown in them. End all of this at once. No more disillusionment, no more crippling self-doubt. If only she could live off loving Elsa she would spend the rest of her life doing nothing else.

"Where did you just go?" Elsa asks softly.

She touches one of the hands cradling her face. "I'm so scared of losing myself," she whispers. "But I'm terrified of losing you."

A moment later, Elsa leans in and kisses her. The touch of her lips is nothing but a brush, so painfully tender that Anna has to squeeze her eyes shut to try to keep herself from crying. She can taste the fear in Elsa's heart as she presses forward, capturing her lower lip between her own. She can taste the salt of her tears, soon mixing with her own, and something else, too. An unspoken emotion. Something that a kiss can no longer repair.

She must push back to ask, "I've lost you, haven't I?"

"My heart belongs to you, it's hard for that to happen."

Anna closes her eyes again. No relief washes over her, only sadness. "I want to go back to the way I used to be, to the way _we_ used to be. Why do things have to be so hard?"

"I don't know, love." She tugs at Anna's hands, driving her to sit on the bed again. Her knees are stiff but she barely pays any attention to them. "And I know that telling you to take this one day at a time won't be of any help. But maybe, sometimes, that's all we can hold onto."

"Yeah," she breathes, and sighs. "I don't... know... what else I can do. How do people start believing in themselves again?"

"Maybe when they start to realize that everyone else around them already does."

Anna nods. There should be some sort of consolation, she thinks, at having unburdened herself of the things she's been carrying. For she has done it, as best as she can, with stumbling words and a dejected voice. So why is it that she feels this emptiness instead?

"Do you think we can lie down?" she asks. She could use a nap. One that lasts until tomorrow morning. Or next year.

They lie in bed without going under the covers. Anna has yet to change out of her work clothes—has yet to decide, or be told, whether she will stay the night at all—but for now, this is enough. She rests her head on Elsa's chest and lets herself sink into the embrace as the girl drapes an arm over her shoulders. She could fall asleep in an instant, burrow into the warmth of Elsa's body until there is nothing left in her mind but the sensation of it. But her heart has started to hammer inside her chest and dread has begun to crawl over her like chills from a cold.

Intimacy doesn't always mean being able to tell when the other person is asleep. It doesn't just mean recognizing their footsteps, nor hearing their emotions through silence, nor knowing when all they need is to be held. Intimacy also means realizing, like a quiet instinct coming straight from the heart, when something is lost. And Anna, as she goes on being held, knows they are very much on the verge of it. She can feel it as faint and steady as the way Elsa's heart beats below her ear. This is what makes her realize why there was no consolation, and why she feels the need to close her eyes and hold on for just a little bit longer.

* * *

The fog has settled over the Hudson by the time Anna arrives.

She has made her slow way over, walked the two long blocks west with pondering steps, driven by the single intention of escaping the confining walls of her apartment. This is what she has been doing for the past few weeks: searching for places where she doesn't have to be alone. Ironic, really, how little she accomplished by speaking the truth. _You took too long_ , she's told herself repetitively. It wasn't futile. It simply was not enough. Something occurs to her then, by the foggy river. A penance: unburdening yourself doesn't fix you. Anna kicks at a small stone by her boot and watches as it falls to the water. What good is it to know something if you're unable to do anything with it?

Nothing's been fixed. She knew this from the moment she rested her head on Elsa's chest. Her sincerity was nothing more than a balm, eventually washed away by the passing of the days. Something between them had changed—gone without the intention of coming back—and all that was left was the quiet, painful realization that Anna's silence had not been the only thing distancing them from each other. The worlds they lived in were set too far apart. They spent days away from each other, caught up on things that once used to be trivial. Their longing became exhaustion, and their exhaustion left room for little else. And Anna went on searching for herself, and Elsa went on working at the hospital, fulfilling her own dreams.

She spent five evenings walking to The Donut Pub on the corner of 14th and 7th, until she learned that the name of the man behind the counter was Davit; that he had a daughter studying business in Pennsylvania; that he usually worked mornings with a lady named Lina but would sometimes work double shifts to make ends meet. She would sit at the bar, with her Moleskine open and a pen by its side. She would order a chocolate donut and a small coffee, and watch those who entered. She liked guessing their order, even if she was often wrong. She wondered about those older than her, if they'd had dreams too; if they ever got lost on their way to attaining them. _Of course they did_ , she told herself every time. Life was no straight line. Rome was not built in a day. Yadda, yadda, yadda. She thought about Elsa with vehement fondness. How busy she was at the hospital, going from one side of the building to the other. Tending patients, saving lives; sometimes. She knew how hard it was for her, but she refused to think of the word sacrifice.

_It is what it is_ , she wrote one day on her journal. _Fate. Maybe I'm struggling against it, and haven't we been taught that fate cannot be altered? It should be so simple, having made the decision long ago to be at the beck and call of fate. But how do I know which way it's calling me?_

She spent a few days out of every week with Elsa, when Elsa was not working at the hospital until late in the evening. But those days were no longer as easy as the love that throbbed inside of them. They argued over stupid little things—like two people who had stopped understanding each other—and then apologized, although neither one of them seemed to know exactly _why_. Anna wept at night, and sometimes Elsa did, too. And they would hold each other all night, too stubborn to let go.

The fog is relentless. It has been so for the past three days. It's hidden the Empire State Building and the Freedom Tower. The Statue of Liberty is nothing but a patch of land in the indiscernible distance, and the water goes on flowing in the river, so slowly that it looks as if it were not moving at all.

Anna leans against the rail, breathes in the damp air. She wonders how cold the water is; how deep it goes. But when she closes her eyes it is not the darkness of its bottom that she sees, but Elsa's face. Her face illuminated by the dim lights of the pier on the night she kissed Anna for the first time. If she were to think hard enough on it, Anna could probably taste the mint and chocolate in her tongue. She would probably be able to feel the phantom touch of Elsa's hands on her cheeks and the warmth of her body pressed against her own. If only she thought hard enough on it.

If only trying didn't hurt too much.

A seagull planes above the river, distracting Anna away from her pain. _Mean creatures,_ she hears a voice say in her head. It is her mother's of course. She's never been fond of seagulls. Or birds for that matter. The seagull flies farther and farther away until Anna loses it to the fog. She thinks: has her mother ever been fond of anything other than her own job?

She figures she should go now. It'll be dark soon. She could buy food at the Chinese restaurant or maybe stop by the Puerto Rican place on 8th Avenue that Kristoff won't stop talking about. Then she'll go home, have a watch party with herself and call it a day.

Yes, that's what she will do.

She opts for Chinese in the end. She swings the bag back and forth as she walks until she remembers that this is paper and not plastic, and one wrong move and she will end up having to eat cereal for dinner—again. The sky is beginning to darken; the deep, cold blue has lost its starkness to the fog. All about her strangers still withdraw from the chilly wind of late winter, their shoulders hunched almost up to their ears, their hands deep in the pocket of their coats as though trying to dig through the fabric.

Anna enters her building, takes the stairs two at a time until she begins to feel a burning sensation in her lungs after the fourth set. "You're too out of shape," she berates herself. She can smell the contents of her Chinese take-out already. It makes her go faster nonetheless.

She begins to pull the keys out of her pocket the moment she reaches the third floor, but when she rounds the corner in the hall she nearly drops them at the sight.

"Elsa?"

The girl looks up from where she's sitting cross-legged next to Anna's door.

"What happened? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she says, so low that Anna barely registers it. She begins to stand up.

"I thought you were having dinner with Sasha tonight."

"I canceled," Elsa explains. "I couldn't—" she shakes her head, frowns, and Anna knows to set the bag on the floor and pull her in for a hug the moment her shoulders drop. "I needed to see you," Elsa breathes into her neck.

Anna holds her tighter. "You should have called me," she says, "I would have come right away."

"I wasn't sure if you were busy."

She smiles gently even though Elsa can't see her. "You should have tried anyway."

They go inside her apartment with slow, tentative movements. Anna's stomach begins to churn at every step she takes, from the door to the kitchen counter where she sets down the paper bag. The silence between them weighs on her; it is deafening.

"Are you hungry?" she asks. "I can turn this into two meals with my culinary skills."

Elsa chuckles somewhere behind her. "That would be nice." She then comes to stand next to her, leaning her hip against the counter. She smiles at Anna when she briefly looks at her, a smile permeated with love but tainted by sorrow.

"How did it go last night?" Anna decides to ask.

"It was long," she says, "I had a man blabber all night about homeopathy and some lady ask for my number because, she said, her son and I would make a lovely couple."

Anna smiles a little at that. "And what did you tell her?"

"I said, 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Walker but I'm not single.' She was so disappointed I thought she was going to ask for another doctor to help her."

"But you're the best one there is."

"Stop," Elsa murmurs after a pause, "I'm no better than any of the residents there."

Anna ignores the containers of food to step closer to her and hook her fingers at the back of Elsa's neck. "I know you're compassionate," she says, "and intelligent, and intuitive. I may be a doofus when it comes to medicine but I also know you need all of those things to become a great doctor."

The corners of Elsa's lips lift momentarily but they don't form a smile.

"What's wrong?" Anna asks.

Elsa shakes her head. "I'm exhausted." She closes her eyes, touches her eyelids with the tips of her fingers. At her own inability to form good words of reassurance, Anna guides her towards the bed, leaving the food for a later time that will not come. They sit on the edge, swept over by silence until Anna speaks again.

"Is there something I can do?"

"If you have a secret stash of endless energy powder hidden somewhere, I would really appreciate it."

A beat. "I have Folger's."

Elsa laughs softly and Anna smiles at the sound of it. She wishes she could erase everything and start over again. Scratch a line over the pain, the exhaustion, the distance, and continue writing on a new page. But then, she wonders, if she were to do that, wouldn't she have to erase the love as well?

Something seems to occur to Elsa then. "Where did you go today?"

"I was home most of the day," she says, "But then I reached a point where I felt like I would go insane if I stayed a minute longer so I ended up walking to the Hudson."

"Was it cold?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"So it wasn't cold at all."

Anna is the one to react with a laugh this time. She smacks Elsa's thigh and the girl responds by taking hold of her hand. It doesn't take long for their fingers to intertwine and for silence to settle over them again. For it is like this. A brief moment that reminisces their past before their present catches up. A touch of bittersweetness in everything they do.

"Can I ask you something?" says Anna with a crack in her voice. She waits for a response that comes as a nod before she asks, "Why did you really cancel plans with Sasha?"

Elsa's face clouds over. "I don't know," she murmurs. She then looks down at their hands and after an interval, Anna does, too. It isn't the only part of them that is touching. Anna's knee is grazing Elsa's, their wrists are overlapping—pulse point over pulse point—and her fingers, in an attempt to understand, are now brushing the shell of Elsa's ear, tucking a loose strand of hair behind it. But there is nothing to understand. Not really. Anna has seen it for a while, in the dejection hidden behind her eyes even when they smile. She has felt it in the way they can no longer seem to leave everything behind when they are together. She has found it in the gaps of time that stretch more and more in between each time of seeing each other. And she knows it, the same way her heart knows and is beginning to throb with despair, the reason why Elsa is here tonight.

"I think you know," Anna says. "Deep down, I think we both know."

And suddenly, Elsa is reaching out, throwing her arms over her shoulders as best and as tight as she can, and Anna can feel her heart breaking with every second she spends in this embrace. "I don't know what to do," Elsa whispers, "I don't—" but her words are crushed again under the weight of it all, and tears have started to roll down Anna's cheeks.

"You think it's time," she murmurs.

Elsa is quiet for a moment. It is in this silence that Anna hears her crying too. "I know you're not happy..."

She squeezes her eyes shut. "And you're not happy either."

A sob escapes her, and Anna holds her—clings to her—for minutes on end. This should have been enough. This love, boundless and unique, should have been enough to keep them from falling apart. It should have held them together. _Then why isn't it?_ Anna keeps asking herself. _Why isn't it, why isn't it, why isn't it?_ She wants to scream. She wants to go on crying until she is out of tears. She wants to spill out the contents of her soul, search for the parts of herself that have done them both so much harm and burn them until they are nothing more than ashes on the ground. But more than anything, she wants Elsa to be happy. And if happiness is no longer by her side, then she will not be the one to hold her back.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore, Elsa."

Elsa leans back and Anna looks at her as if for the first time. The blue of her eyes that shimmer under the light of the room. Her reddened nose. Her rosy lips. Anna will never know how there can be so much beauty in this much sadness.

"We are hurting each other," she cries softly, "And I know... I know we barely see each other anymore and I know a lot of it has to do with what I'm doing."

"No." Anna touches the hand still on her shoulder. "You are doing exactly what you were meant to do."

"At the cost of what?"

"At the cost of nothing," she says, pleading, _begging_ Elsa not to blame herself for this. "They are two separate things. You love me and I love you and that is all. That is the only thing that will always matter."

"Then how come we haven't fixed this?" Elsa asks with urgency, "How come we can't seem to go back to the way things used to be?"

Her shoulders drop in defeat; sorrowful, numbing. "I don't know," she whispers. Must the universe be this cruel? Must it hide the answers to the only things that truly matter? Must people go on treading the paths of life, letting things happen to them, without knowing _why_? If this is fate, Anna thinks, she doesn't want it.

"This is it, isn't it?" Elsa asks her, and Anna can hear the pleas and shattered dreams in her voice.

She takes a moment to ingrain in her memory the soft features of her face. There is desperation in every single one of their actions; every brush of the hand, every gaze, every caress. As if every new touch and every new look were to be the last. And then Anna's hands are traveling up, shaking, touching Elsa's face. How she loves everything about it. Every imperfection, every detail that make up the essence that is Elsa. The tips of her fingers touch the wet trails of her tears as she attempts to wipe them off, and she aches. How many tears has Elsa cried for her?

"Maybe... maybe we can take a step back. Take a break," she says through her tears, cradling Elsa's face so that she won't look away. "Maybe we can learn a few things about ourselves or—or work on ourselves. Maybe this way I can become a better person so that—" her voice breaks "—so that I can go back to being the person you fell in love with."

"It was never about loving a different version of you, Anna. But I am so sorry I was not able to show you that."

Anna crumbles inside. Nothing's ever hurt this way before. She wants to tell Elsa that she's sorry for failing; that she's sorry for having let her own disappointment seep through the cracks of their relationship. But she feels as though something were pushing hard against her chest, watching her, impassive, as she gasps for air.

"But maybe you're right," Elsa adds in a pained murmur. "Maybe what we need this time is distance."

She closes her eyes in defeat. A warm hand touches her cheek before soft lips brush against her own. Anna swallows her sob, tastes the salt of their tears. Their kiss is desperate; it feeds their pain. How does one endure something like this? How does one let go of what once felt so beautifully permanent? She holds on to the back of Elsa's neck, not wanting to let go. She feels Elsa's lips quiver, let out a sorrowful sigh. So she kisses her again, with more force. She wants the taste, the feel of her lips to last for as long as they're separated. She wants to remember nothing else. Because no one else will ever thrum in her veins and echo in her soul the way Elsa can. No one else will ever _know_ her this way, with such precious clarity.

But then Elsa is pushing back, pressing her forehead against Anna's, threading her fingers through her hair and holding tight to the back of her head. "I should go," she breathes against her mouth. And Anna has no time to react; no time at all to beg for her to stay. She stands up, looking everywhere that is not her. There is no goodbye, no wave of her hand. _I love you_ , Anna wants to say, but the only thing that escapes her lips is a choked up sob. _I love you, and I promise you I will be here. When we are ready again. I will be here._ She sees Elsa open the door and turn around one last time. There are tears streaming down her face but the emotion is not lost amidst them. She hears it, as clear as if she were speaking those words in Anna's ears.

_I love you._

Anna watches her go before she crumbles to the floor, clutching at her chest, feeling her heart leave as well.


	32. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The heartfelt comments you guys have taken the time to leave for this story have made me so so so happy. I must say, one of the biggest highlights of my year has been connecting with you all, learning through your comments, and gaining back the confidence I once had in my words, because of you. I hope every single one of you enjoys the holidays, and I wish for all of you the absolute best in this upcoming new year. May we grow, heal, learn, and become better.
> 
> This is the beginning of part 2. It is much lighter than the previous chapters, but fear not (did you ever?), angst will come again. I made a playlist for this fic, you can find it on Spotify under the name It's JOTU, bitch (if you get the Spears reference extra points!). Anyway. Thank you again. You are all real fucking amazing people.

**PART 2**

_I no longer love her, that's certain. But maybe I love her._

_Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms_

_my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her._

—Pablo Neruda

_And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation._

—Khalil Gibran

* * *

**_  
Three years later..._ **

There must be some kind of comfort in the knowledge that everything in life changes. Our bodies, our emotions, the world around us. Even the way we look at things often changes; the way we act towards people in our lives; the way we allow external events to affect us—or not. Is anything in life permanent? Or are we meant to adapt to changes over and over again, like a game none of us signed up for?

Without change, progress is impossible. And without progress... What _?_ Elsa thinks. Without progress you don't become a better person. You don't succeed in life, you don't learn from your mistakes, you don't come to the realization that the things which used to make you happy no longer do. And you also don't realize, until it feels too late, that the things which made you happy are the ones you left behind.

Elsa shifts her attention downwards at her hands. She has been picking absentmindedly at the skin around her nails for as long as she's been sitting on this bench. How long ago was that? She is unsure. She has no idea why she came here in the first place, when she knows being alone with her thoughts can be a dangerous thing. She looks up again at the mosaic on the wall. Oranges and yellows between blues and purples. It looks like a sunset, although she is not sure of that either. There is a row of candles below it. Only one of them holds a flame that doesn't flicker but remains steady in the windless room. Hanging to the right of the large mosaic is a simple cross made out of wood and to its left: the Star of David. Elsa wonders if religion is a permanent thing. She figures, yes. It isn't religion that changes, but us. What we choose to believe in, how we perceive our own faith.

And it's back to the beginning.

She's always liked to think that love had some permanency to it. Love changes, of course. It matures. It has different names. It is fueled by many different circumstances and many different perspectives. Two people who have loved each other for fifty years will not love the same way a teenager loves for the first time. Someone who has carried the weight of grief on their shoulders will not love like a person who knows not what it's like to lose a loved one. Love is as unique as the person who experiences it. It can be twisted, it can be pure. It can be expressed in a thousand ways, and a thousand ways will never be enough to cover it all. So maybe there's an answer there. Love is permanent, no matter how much it may transform itself throughout the years.

She knows this a little too well.

It has been three years, and the first thought that still strikes her as soon as she wakes up is Anna. She can't help it. Anna has permeated her life. The things she sees, the music she hears, the streets she walks on. Everything and everyone carries the essence of a moment they once shared together. And Elsa goes on waking, working, wandering; living in a perpetual memory. It haunts her, day and night.

She often wonders if they made a mistake, if perhaps they should have fought harder for what they had. But then Elsa has to remind herself: they were fighting different battles. And different battles are meant to have different endings. She's thought too much about this while in the crevices of her busy life. She's wondered whether Anna has won her own battle; whether she will reach out to her when it happens. She knows little about her now, bits and pieces of her life after Elsa. They are delivered to her and Elsa takes them willingly, clinging to them in a way that makes her realize her love for her has not diminished.

But she knew this, didn't she? She knew this as she stood by Anna's door, looking back one last time at the girl who had taught her how to love unconditionally. She had wanted Anna to know this too, despite her inability to speak. For the love in her eyes to be so strong that Anna could carry it with her for as long as they remained separated.

Elsa looks down at her hands again, at the scar on her left middle finger. She smiles a little as she brushes a finger over it. Anna used to kiss this scar—playfully or with devotion, it didn't matter. Elsa knew she would never let anyone else do as she did.

Behind her, there is a light knock against wood. She turns around to find Sasha standing there with a humorless, apologetic grin on his face. Elsa huffs out a small laugh, and Sasha draws closer.

"You missed the lecture," he says lowly.

"I couldn't bring myself to listen to another lecture today." She scoots to the side to let him sit next to her. He does so slowly, too properly, with his hands flat on his thighs. It almost makes Elsa want to laugh.

"You're too smart anyway."

She bumps his shoulder. "How did you find me?"

"No idea," he responds, "You weren't at lecture and you weren't at the cafeteria. My next idea was to check on the women's bathrooms but the chapel was on its way so..." When Elsa doesn't respond to this, he tries something different. "You know I can always leave if you need space. I can pretend I'm still looking for you."

"I'm okay," she says, "I just came here to think."

"I'm all ears if you'd like a more responsive listener."

Elsa considers this. "I guess... I was just thinking about how much things have changed." She bites her lower lip then, refraining from saying more.

"Are you having an existential crisis? Cause we're reaching that age, you know?"

"I'm not sure I could call it an existential crisis."

A pause. "You were thinking about Anna, weren't you?"

"Am I really that predictable?"

Sasha rolls his eyes. "We've been through this."

"I know, I know." Her chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh. She glances over at the candle, stares at its flame. She wonders who's left it lit but doesn't feel the need to question the reason why.

"Have you talked to her?" Sasha asks with a low, tentative voice.

Elsa looks down. "You know the answer to that."

"Yeah, you're right. I honestly don't know what's been keeping you from reaching out, or keeping _her_ for that matter. It's been too fucking long." He winces, glances at the front of the chapel. "Sorry."

"We took a break because we needed it."

"Okay."

"And it'll take as long as it takes."

When no response comes, Elsa looks at her friend. He is staring at her, almost glaring. They are interrupted by another person walking in. A man with a somber expression, almost dragging his feet all the way to the front row. It forces Elsa to think that they should leave soon.

But Sasha has other plans. "What if Anna is telling herself the same thing?" he whispers, "What if... she's also saying 'It takes as long as it takes,' and you two idiots—sorry—spend the rest of your lives not _doing_ anything because you're waiting for the other to take the first step."

Elsa squirms in her place. She's waiting for the man to turn around and glare at them until they get the hint and leave. But he doesn't. Instead, he lowers himself until Elsa can no longer see the back of his head.

"Maybe you're right," she whispers back. But does she mean it? She doesn't know the answer to that just yet.

Sasha scoots a little closer. "Look, all I'm gonna say is that if you don't find out where you both stand, how are you supposed to know when it's time for you to try again?"

Elsa mulls this over, then says: "I hate it when you're right."

"Which is often."

"Hardly."

He shrugs with a smile. A minute in silence must have passed before he checks his watch and tells her, "Lunchtime's almost over. Did you eat anything?"

Elsa shakes her head slowly and in response Sasha pulls a Snickers bar out of the pocket of his coat. He hands it to her without giving her the option to refuse it.

"You have got to stop hoarding Snickers inside your coat, Sasha."

" _Never_ ," he whispers before he stands up and offers his hand.

* * *

Elsa exits at Union Square Station. The late afternoon sky is being drowned out of its blue, slowly substituted by the gentle hues that announce the slow transition to the warm colors of sunset. The Hare Krishnas are playing on their usual spot. The skaters are blocking people's paths their usual way. And the commuters keep on looking stoically ahead, strutting forward, coming in and out of the park's subway station like ants in a colony. Elsa walks east, towards 4th Avenue, and as always, she tries to ignore the familiarity of her actions; the remembrance of it all. If she were to make a right on 12th Street she would reach the bookstore Anna used to work at. If she were to go on farther she would reach the coffee shop Elsa used to buy hot chocolate from—right across from the Middle-Eastern spot they dined in once after drinking two bottles of wine at home—on days she would drop by. Then she would reach the restaurant Anna took her out to one evening, when Elsa needed a break from studying. And on, and on, and on: from Battery Park, to Chinatown and Little Italy; Washington Square Park and Union Square; the Hudson and the East River; Central Park and the Empire State Building. Like a thread of memories that twists and entwines through the streets of New York City, impassive to the emotions that in Elsa they elicit.

But Elsa keeps on walking instead; walking back home, to her own place.

She is tired, but the fulfillment she feels is what steers her away from entertaining her own exhaustion. Ever since she started her fellowship it has been this way. A quiet satisfaction that derives from a very simple knowledge: that she is doing exactly what she loves to do. The unspoken routine to which she has submitted herself in the process has also kept her from steering far off in a direction she would not know how to return from. But aren't routines supposed to bring one comfort, anyway? Aren't they supposed to be helpful? Cathartic? Elsa would like to think they are. If it weren't for one, she doesn't know how long she would have been able to go without contacting Anna.

Elsa reaches the corner of 10th and 4th and makes a left, nearly bumping into a man. They waltz. To the left first, then to the right. Elsa smiles awkwardly and so does the man. He steps to the side, extends his arm to let her pass. Both of them laugh, the tension is gone and so are they, onto paths neither of them will probably ever cross again. She constantly wonders how Anna is doing, but she tries not to pester their friends about it. That couldn't be a good sign. She's let her go so that she could find herself again. So that they could both heal.

_It's been too fucking long,_ she hears Sasha say in her head. Elsa sighs, pushing the building's front door open. _It takes as long as it takes_ , she tells the voice. It has to. She cannot— _will not_ —push Anna anymore.

Inside, she climbs the two flights of stairs to her apartment. She'd briefly considered buying something at the Duane Reade downstairs but has thought better of it. It's early enough. She can cook something, even if it's a mediocre bachelor's meal at best.

Elsa jingles the keys in her hand until she reaches her door, but once she's there a scuffing sound on the other side of it draws her attention. She leans closer, almost touching the door with her ear. Alarmed, she assesses the knob, then the lock. None of it appears forced, and she frowns. A loud sound then comes from inside her apartment: a pan hitting the floor. Then a laugh, a loud curse. Elsa rolls her eyes and finally lets herself in.

She finds Rapunzel and Eugene in the kitchen, and startles both of them when she speaks. "You know I gave you a copy of my key for emergencies, right? Emergencies only?"

Rapunzel throws her arms around her. "You never said only."

"Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't," Eugene quips, grinning like a kid who tries to charm his way out of trouble.

"Okay. Fine. You win." She steps away from Rapunzel's embrace to go drop her backpack on the gray couch she bought at IKEA. The one she did not get around to pulling the pieces out of the box for two weeks, and the one she had to coerce her cousin into helping her assemble with pizza and a pint of strawberry ice cream.

"Why is this such a tiny kitchen?" she hears her call out.

"It's proportional to the amount of people living here."

"Right," Rapunzel mumbles.

Elsa steps out of her shoes before she carries them back to the hallway where Eugene's and Rapunzel's already lie half disarranged on the floor. She thinks it's funny how much familiarity can be carried in such a common, messy gesture.

She looks for seriousness again once she's back in the kitchen. "What are you two doing here anyway?"

"We came to pay you a visit because you're lonely."

"You know I have friends."

Her cousin snorts. "Yeah, like one."

"Two... kind of. And I have acquaintances as well, at the hospital."

"Do you hang out with your acquaintances?" Eugene asks, crossing his arms, smirking. He's useless in the kitchen, Elsa thinks.

"Not really."

"So you have two friends, gotcha."

Eugene ruffles his girlfriend's hair. "Just tell her the truth, babe." He looks at Elsa, ready for a spiel. "She missed you so she made us come all the way over here. We didn't know if you were still at the hospital or not so she abused her privileges and used the key to let us in. Then she took over your kitchen because she wanted to have something ready for you by the time you got here, which is going great if you ask me. And no, that is not a sarcastic comment." Elsa leans back against the sink as she looks at the tiny, no longer pristine counter of her kitchen. There is flour, both on the surface and inside its package. A box of elbow macaroni, two or three lonesome guys scattered outside. One on the floor. A block of white cheddar cheese, butter, a bowl Elsa did not even remember she had. There is a package of spinach wraps she _does_ remember buying at Trader Joe's just last week. Ham, lettuce, mayo...

"What are you making?"

"What does it look like I'm making?" Rapunzel asks back.

"Macaroni and cheese, and some kind of wrap."

"So why you asking? _Duh._ " She asks Eugene to check on the water. When he tells her it's boiling, although mildly questioning his own judgement, she asks him to empty the box of macaroni in the pot. "You know," she then tells Elsa, "Your fridge is disturbingly empty."

"It's not that bad."

"It is, though," Eugene quips again. Elsa throws one of the lonesome macaroni at the back of his head.

"It's not as fun cooking for one," she admits. It's been almost a year since Rapunzel and Elsa had discussed finding their own places. Elsa had never minded living with her cousin, but she understood that the time had come for her and Eugene to take the next step in their relationship. And now, six months after moving to her own place, she has come to learn the trodden paths of living alone. Her priorities have changed; become singular. Quality has been substituted by promptness, and she no longer minds if all she has energy for at night is a packaged meal.

"You know, she's right," Eugene says, siding with Elsa this time. He's pulled out of the freezer the bowl of grapes she keeps inside. He offers her some and she accepts. Frozen grapes: a trick he taught her himself.

"And since when do you cook?" Elsa asks the girl who's overly focused on her mayo-spreading business.

"She's been taking lessons."

Rapunzel panics for a second before she kicks Eugene in the shin.

"What did you kick him for? What's so wrong with taking lessons?"

"Nothing," she blurts out, sets the knife aside, and excuses herself to the bathroom.

Elsa watches her go. She then turns to a grimacing Eugene. "What's with her?"

"She, uh, she is very private about her cooking lessons. Doesn't like people knowing and... stuff."

She looks at him as though he's grown a second head but he ignores this, perhaps used by now to her baffled looks. He sets the bowl of grapes on the counter and steps—limps—closer to her.

"There's something I do need to talk to you about, though," he says, glancing back at the kitchen's entrance.

"Is it about the cooking lessons?"

Eugene rubs the back of his neck. "No, not that." He touches the counter, arranges the ingredients packages into a single line. He lets out another nervous laugh, puffs out a breath, and then: "I wanna propose."

"What?"

"I want to propose," he repeats slower. His voice is steady; braver.

"She just kicked you and you're telling me you want to marry her?"

He grins while Elsa's own smile of disbelief grows. A simple statement has left her speechless with borrowed happiness.

"It's been almost six years, you know?" he adds as if trying to justify his decision. There is joy in him as well, barely concealed by the tilt in his voice, the child-like excitement glinting in his clear, brown eyes. Elsa doesn't remember the last time he's let himself be seen this way, so vulnerable and so entirely, achingly sincere.

It is this which makes her hug him. "You don't have to explain it to me," she says, "I know you make her happy, and I know you would be a delinquent if it weren't for her."

Eugene laughs and relieved, he squeezes around her waist. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"I'm very happy for you two." She steps back to look him square in the eye. "But you know she's going to lose it when you ask her."

"Ask me what?"

The two turn around to find Rapunzel standing there.

"Uh—"

"He was just telling me—"

"If you wanted a pet."

"A what?"

" _A pet?!_ " Rapunzel exclaims. She's already raising her arms, looking delirious as if there were a pet in the kitchen wagging its tail and jumping at her legs.

There is so much happiness filling up this small space of her apartment that Elsa suddenly wonders if this is the first time it's ever felt this warm; this close to home. It makes her look forward to the future for once, and it gives her a sliver of hope, too, that perhaps this much happiness—contagious and overflowing—is not something entirely lost to her. That perhaps she can find it again.

That perhaps she and Anna can find each other, once again, in this lifetime.

* * *

" _YOU'VE BEEN TAKING COOKING LESSONS WITH ANNA?!"_

"Okay, you're making it sound like it's a big deal."

"Because it _is._ "

"No," Rapunzel says slowly, "It is not."

Elsa stops on the corner of East 7th and 2nd Avenue, looks at the green light, but doesn't cross. "How long has this been going on?" she asks.

"I dunno. A couple of months."

" _Months?!_ "

"This is why I didn't wanna tell you," she mutters.

"So you would have rather kept it from me instead?"

"Well, no? I told you because I can't keep stuff from you not because I wanted to tell you. It's like word vomit. What do you do to me, woman?"

Elsa ignores the question. The pedestrian light is signaling its red hand. She looks to the right to make sure there are no cars approaching and crosses.

"So how is she?" she asks lowly, tightening her hold on her phone.

"You're giving me whiplash."

"I just want to know how she is."

There is a long enough pause that Elsa has to pull the phone away from her ear to check if the call is still ongoing. She rushes past a semi-crowded bar in order to leave the noise behind. People at the East Village seem to have missed the memo that this was a Wednesday night. Then again, Elsa wasn't exactly just passing by.

"You two are so annoying," Rapunzel finally comments.

"What do you mean?"

"She asks me the same thing. Every. Cooking. Lesson. And it's like, you have each other's phone numbers. So why don't you just grow a pair, pick up the phone and let me cook in peace? It's already hard making an omelette without having your friend blabbering in your ear about your gay cousin..."

Elsa doesn't quite listen to the rest of Rapunzel's long-winded speech. There's only room left for the knowledge that Anna asks about her too. And not just every other time, but on every cooking lesson.

"...and I told her, 'You're gonna burn that chicken if you keep thinking about Elsa—'"

"How often are your cooking classes?"

"What?"

"Your lessons, how often do you guys have them?"

"We try to do it once a week, but they're expensive yo."

So once a week, for the past couple of months, Anna has asked about her. Elsa tries to suppress the giddy smile that threatens to spread across her face, but it is futile. Joy has taken over her entire body; an electrifying jolt that surges up her spine and settles warmly in her chest. Hope rekindled.

Elsa doesn't realize she has reached her destination until she is almost past it. So she halts, eyes the entrance of the bar, and focuses back on her conversation with Rapunzel.

"Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome, I guess?" She pauses, then says, "You're not going to do anything crazy, right?"

Elsa frowns. "You mean like crashing your cooking sessions?"

"Hey, you never know."

"I wouldn't do that."

Rapunzel lets out a heavy breath. "I was kind of hoping you would," she mumbles, "But anyway, that's your choice, and whatever you decide to do in the end I will respect it because I love you and all that stuff."

"Thank you," Elsa responds. Their phone call ends moments later. However, she doesn't move right away. She stays where she is, standing next to a tree whose trunk has been wrapped in string lights that await the next holiday season. The phone in her hand tempts her, and she bites her lip. It could be so easy, she thinks, to press dial on Anna's number. But after so many years, what could she possibly say? Hey, how are you? I have not stopped missing you this entire time? Elsa shakes her head at herself, at the phone that she reluctantly puts away. If she were to ever put an end to this, it would not be over the phone.

And with a last streak of resolution she turns around—

" _Jesus_."

"Definitely not Jesus," Tracy says with a raspy laugh.

Elsa mutters an apology and takes a step back. She's walked straight into her, almost knocking both of them to the ground.

"You didn't hear me calling you out?" she asks, removing her hands from Elsa's elbows as she studies her face.

"No, sorry," Elsa repeats. She is still trying to gather herself, trying to push the clinging thought of Anna to the side. Back to where it has remained for the past three years, imbuing her subconscious with the searing mark she left behind.

Tracy watches with curiosity. "You okay?"

"Yeah." It comes out a little too enthusiastically. "Should we go in?"

She gestures for her to lead the way. They step inside the bar and Elsa opts for the empty table by the window. A tealight candle inside a small glass sits in the middle of it. As soon as they've sat down, two paper menus are placed on the lacquered wood by a girl who couldn't be out of college yet. Her smile is flashy and her voice is sickly cheerful with a tilt of Floridian accent. She makes Elsa think of a Broadway understudy. Or a dancer—like the ones who used to loiter the lawns at Columbia when the days were warm and they could showcase their abilities to the rest of the student population. They were all toothy grins and lithe limbs, and strong legs and thrusting hips, and Elsa made a flustered note to herself on her first year of college never to stare for too long—. Yes, she's got to be a dancer. Elsa has never met a more cheerful creature than a dancer in New York. And she'd always wondered why. Wasn't the competition morbidly depressing?

"I know what I'm ordering," Tracy tells the girl before she turns to Elsa, "What about you?"

She doesn't look at the menu—doesn't have to, in fact. They have been here numerous times before (does that make this girl a newbie?), "I'll have a glass of Chardonnay, please."

The girl nods once, then again when Tracy orders a Rum and Coke. Elsa watches her walk away, broad smile and all.

"Nice, huh?"

" _No_ ," she says, blushing. "I was just wondering if she was a dancer."

She presses her tongue against her cheek. "Uh-huh. Why would you need to know if she was a dancer?"

"I don't _need_ to _._ It's called curiosity."

The smile Tracy gives her is a teasing one, but while Elsa rolls her eyes she doesn't seek a retort. There is no way to change her opinion on things like these, she's come to learn. And for the past two years that is exactly what she's been doing. Tracy infiltrated into her life like water seeping through the cracks, until eventually Elsa began to cave in. She had been inconsolable for months, unwilling to leave the apartment for anything other than work, drowning herself in her duties to the point where she kept reaching the maximum hours a week. She closed herself off; became unreachable. For months, it was all she knew. Until the afternoon Tracy called and caught her at a desperate, vulnerable time. She agreed to meet with her that same night, at a bar that was dark and noisy, and full of people she would never again see in her life.

Because Tracy was the furthest thing from Anna and that became, all at once, what Elsa didn't want but exactly what she needed.

When Florida girl returns, Tracy raises her eyebrows at Elsa and she returns the gesture with a glare. The drinks are set down, food is offered and denied, and Florida is once again gone with her showtime smile and her tilted accent.

Tracy leans closer as she raises her glass. Elsa clinks it with her own, and smiles. She would be lying if she said she didn't look forward to these brief outings. They provided some semblance of a normal life. One she often wondered how long it was meant to last.

"I brought you something," Tracy announces after her first sip.

"Oh?"

"I was cleaning up my apartment today—which, by the way, should have been done fucking sooner—and I found this book I thought you might like." She takes out from under the table a tattered, worn out book. Its corners are creased and some of its pages are dogeared, but Elsa places her hand on top of its cover as though it were new.

"It reminds me of your paper," Tracy explains nonchalantly, "The one that made Park choose you for the London program."

"The one you weren't supposed to read but read anyway?"

Tracy winks. "Exactly that one."

Elsa chuckles and thanks her. She sets the book carefully to the side, appreciative of the gesture. She will start with it tonight, she decides.

"So how's work been?" she asks as she reaches for her own glass.

"As good as it always is by the end of the Spring semester."

"So... not very good?"

Tracy laughs lowly. "It's just tedious and repetitive. Nothing as exciting as what you do at the hospital." She runs her hand through her thick, brown hair and even that, Elsa thinks, appears self-assured. Every one of her movements—touching the rim of her glass, brushing her hair from her face, smiling at the waitress—is purposeful, and her gaze is profound and discerning. That blatant confidence of hers that once used to drive Elsa so mad is the one thing she has come to admire in a twisted, reluctant way.

"Working at the hospital can also be tedious," she admits.

"Yes, but isn't it a _fulfilling_ type of tedious." She has leaned closer again, placed both her forearms on the table.

"You might have a point."

Tracy grins slowly before her expression sobers up and she shrugs. "I just get tired, you know? The mundanity of it all. The same thing every day. You know I don't like things that don't keep me on my toes."

Elsa hums. Yes, she does know.

"So what will you do?"

"Keep complaining and do nothing." She raises the glass to her lips. "Isn't that what we all do?"

Elsa thinks about this with a tinge of regret. "You could always save up money, travel the world and forget about it all."

"That's strangely idealistic coming from you."

She cracks a smile. "Are you calling me a pessimistic?"

"No, but you like to keep things real." She fixes her piercing eyes on her. "Trust me. I learned that the hard way."

Elsa sets her eyes on the glass of white wine by her hand. She touches its base with her fingers, and remembers the guilt that once gnawed at her for having said yes to Tracy just so that she could forget about everything else for one night. She had gone with her guard up, ready to turn her down; ready to tell her that she was not and would never be interested, only to realize that Tracy no longer harbored what had once repelled her so much.

She takes a large sip of her Chardonnay before she carries on in a different direction. "Are you excited about your summer trip?"

Tracy smirks behind the rim of her glass. "You bet I am."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Three weeks," she says, "One and a half in Scotland and the rest in Ireland. You'd think it feels like long enough time until you find yourself at the airport on your way back and realize it wasn't."

"The good things never feel like lasting long enough," Elsa muses. She has said this without thinking, more to herself than to Tracy. Anna is beginning to slip through again, painfully and unwarranted; so much so that she has to look away at everything that surrounds them in search for a comfort she knows will not come. Music is playing from the speakers and for a moment, it is all she can focus on. Like a muffled memory she can't quite escape.

"Come with me," she hears Tracy say.

Elsa turns back. "You know I can't do that."

"You need a break."

"I might," she concedes, "But right now is not a good time."

Her gaze glints with a new emotion. "Will there ever be a good time?" she asks, and something in the tone of her voice tells Elsa she's not just referring to a vacation.

So she smiles gently, touches the stem of her glass, and breathes, "Perhaps not."

* * *

The act of taking a pause is sometimes learned at the hands of others.

We reach a point in our lives when our bodies no longer function as they once used to. They deteriorate, they wither, they become a shell filled up with the nostalgia of everything we once did, and the regret of everything we never got to do. We look at ourselves in the mirror day in and day out, and despite the change being gradual, we never quite forget about that first sight of a wrinkle or the first tremble of our hands. And when we start to slow down, we notice it, too. It's our limbs. They don't quite work the way we want them to. They are stubborn in their refusal to move, while we are even more stubborn to let them keep us from living our lives as best as we still can.

So what happens when we realize we can no longer walk freely, without the help of something or someone else? What happens when we ask those who are younger than us to help us out; to walk at our pace because we have to _think_ about our steps, we have to command our feet to listen to us. What happens when our movements are no longer fluid and have slowed down against our will? Do we fight against it, stubborn as ever, or do we simply... give in?

Elsa has learned the act of taking a pause at the hands of Theo.

That cane. That _goddamn_ cane, she always says, has done her more wrong than good. And perhaps it has. Perhaps it has made her dependent—lazy, some other people might say—, but Elsa doesn't think so. Work _with_ the cane, not against it, she tells her. Theo only grumbles and gives her the cold shoulder for a minute. Because her body has slowed down no matter how much she may pretend it hasn't, and Elsa can only be there by her side, taking a pause with her every time she needs to.

It is one thing to slow down for yourself. It is another, more selfless thing to slow down for others. Elsa likes to think she's done much learning about selflessness lately. And about self-restraint. And about the consequences of having slept too late the night before thinking about your ex—she hates that term but her brain begrudgingly slips it in sometimes—and about whether or not your pager will go off in the middle of having a dream with afore mentioned ex. She knows she needs to get rid of that habit, which has only been exacerbated in the past few days after having found out that Anna has been asking about her once a week for the past couple of months.

She also loses her sleep wondering if she's being obsessive about the whole thing but that is another matter entirely.

Elsa has been trying to make it to the center every weekend (unless Theo calls her and asks her not to for reasons she's been unwilling to explain) ever since Theo took a fall and had to be taken to the hospital under precautionary measures. "You worry too much," the elder had told her, "Not all old folks are made out of glass." No, they were not. But that had not kept Elsa from visiting.

Today, the sun is out. Although it lacks still the smoldering sensation of its summer form. Encouraged by Elsa, they have been taking walks outside while the weather is nice. Steady, Theo holds onto Elsa's arm with one hand and her cane with the other. Slowly, they shift from one side of the garden to the other. Accustomed to the hasty walks of the city, Elsa has also learned one or two things about taking their time.

"How's that guy with the herbals holdin' up?" Theo asks her.

"Not good," Elsa laments, "He had a magnet strapped to his chest this time. He keeps refusing the defibrillator, so I told his nurse if he doesn't do something he's going to be dead by the end of the year."

"Nothing like death's threat to get your crap together, huh?"

"You would think," she grumbles. "You have no idea how many people are still weary of regular procedures no matter how much you tell them it'll save their lives."

"People will always be scared of the things they do not understand, baby."

Elsa sighs. "I guess you're right." She glances at Theo and finds her smirking. "I just get frustrated sometimes. Not only do you have to work against the predictable odds, but also against a person's way of thinking."

Theo pulls her closer for a second. "Teaches ya you ain't God, honey. You work with what you have, and work as hard as you can."

"And hope for the best?"

"And hope for the best."

The garden is quiet except for the birds chirping away, hidden in the foliage of the trees. Up ahead, a nurse walks next to Sergei who keeps his hands laced behind his back and his eyes above in the clouds.

"What about that kid? The one with the heart attack?"

"He wasn't much of a kid. He was barely younger than me."

"Y'all become kids at some point. Just wait and see."

Elsa chuckles. "He is doing okay now, but he got a good scare that's for sure." She can still recall that morning at the ER. She'd seen him before: he was an intern at the hospital. He had been sitting on the side of a gurney, legs dangling, looking bored. The first thing that had crossed her mind was that there were better ways to skip internship duty.

"I hope you're taking care of yourself," Theo says. It almost sounds like a warning. _Or else..._

"I am."

Theo hums, sassy; skeptical. "I can't have you getting a heart attack at thirty."

"Twenty _-_ nine _."_

"Oh _, honey._ "

She laughs. The nurse turns around, then Sergei. He gives her a joyous smile; a pair of mirthful, green eyes framed by bushy, gray eyebrows.

"Ain't much of a difference," Theo tells her.

"What are you talking about?" she teases, "It makes the _biggest_ difference in the world."

Theo shakes her head but retains her smile. She grows silent in order to focus on her steps for a while. The cane touches the ground at the same time that her right foot does. Her left foot follows afterwards. Slow. Steady. Elsa moves along with kind, patient steps.

"Oh, before I forget," Theo says, "Next weekend I will be unavailable."

"Why? You got a date or something?"

"Yes."

Elsa gasps. "No way."

She rolls her eyes, lifts her cane as if to strike her. "Not that kinda date, you silly little thing. I have someone payin' me a visit."

"Is this the same visit you've been bailing out on me for every other weekend?"

Theo ignores her. She looks up at the trees, and follows with her eyes the journey of a bird from one branch to another. Elsa has come to learn this from her friends at the center and her older patients at the clinic. If they want to ignore you, they will. Must be an age thing, she thinks. This lack of pretensions.

"Theo."

"Yes, hon."

"Who's visiting you next week?"

She gives her an indignant look. "A friend."

Elsa watches her closely. It's beginning to dawn on her who this friend might be. "Does she happen to be younger than me?"

Theo ignores her again.

"Shorter than me, maybe? Freckles all over. Cute smile. Kinda clumsy?"

"He's a forty-year-old man, with crooked, yellow teeth and a six-feet figure."

Elsa goes on staring at her. She doesn't know if she's joking or not.

"You two just like adding salt to the wound, don't ya?"

They've come to a stop. Elsa can no longer focus on slow, steady steps. The realization has her wanting to run far away. Until she can reach the city, reach Anna's apartment, and knock on the door she had never wanted to close behind her.

"We gave each other time," she explains weakly. "We needed it."

Theo nods solemnly. "I know you did."

Elsa doesn't know what to say. Why has every conversation recently gravitated back towards Anna? Has it all been happening inadvertently, or is there supposed to be a meaning behind it? No matter how long it's been, she feels as though she were fighting against what they agreed upon. But then, she realizes, they never agreed on anything other than giving each other space. So how are they supposed to know when the other is ready?

Theo must have caught on with her internal struggle because she is suddenly patting her cheek with a gentle, wrinkly hand. "Your time will come, my love."

Elsa swallows thickly. "What do I do until then?" she asks hopelessly. She doesn't expect an answer to this, regardless of her desires.

After another gentle pat, Theo hooks their arms together again and resumes their walk. "Until then," she says, "You keep on doin' what you've been doin'. You work, you become better, you learn, and you grow."

She looks down at their feet slowly moving onward and wishes she could will herself to do the same with her life.

"And I hope for the best?"

"And you hope for the best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Tracy gives Elsa is called Being Mortal by Atul Gawande; the book that drove me to write The Joys of the Universe.


	33. Absence

_There is an empty shell for each person in this world. When two people love each other, they become one shell and in each shell there is a universe. The problem is that, when one of them is missing, this vacant space, this emptiness they've left behind becomes a terrifying thing to contemplate._

_It is called absence._

_The thought of it fills us with fear at times. How many of us are scared of dying alone? How many of us are scared of_ living _alone? Absence is something we would rather only recognize from afar. Like a concept we recognize from having heard of, absentmindedly, in a conversation we were never part of. Or like a word that reaches the tip of our tongue but can never be remembered. But I would like to think absence can also teach us one or two things about life. Because how could we ever attain the value of something, of someone, if we are never to experience their absence? Is a piece of gold more meaningful to a person who's lived their whole life in richness, or to someone who has spent their whole life being poor?_

_So what about this universe; what about this empty shell we carry around all of our lives. It is almost ironic that we should think of ourselves as empty—that this is how we are meant to live until somebody else steps in and fills in the blanks. Plato once said that love is the one thing that tries to make one out of two. "Each of us, then, is a 'matching half' of a human whole." We call them soulmates, and in this case, we shall call them empty shells. But what if we were wrong from the beginning? What if soulmates are meant to be two whole beings who must first find themselves; discover themselves; learn about themselves..._

_What if we are meant to create our own universe first?_

Anna leans back in her chair, heaving a sigh. She takes a look out the window, at the evening sky. She looks back, stares at what she's written so far and decides that it's far too early to judge it with a critical eye. She could do with a break, she thinks. From here to the kitchen and back. Get some ice cream while she's there. Stretch. Waste some time on meaningless things. Then go back to writing. While she considers this, her eyes fall on the tattered copy of Plato's _The Symposium_ as it lies dogeared and open atop her messy desk. She has no idea why it's open at this point except that it looks nice and it shows that she's been doing research and she's kept busy, even if nobody else looks at her desk except for her. She then glances at her half-drunk cup of coffee—the one she brewed this morning and keeps forgetting about—, at the empty to-go cup from yesterday's trip to the coffee shop, at the glass of water she's supposed to be drinking but also forgets about. Anna decides it feels like a good time to clean up.

She stands up with a grunt, feeling like she's sixty rather than twenty-six, and stretches until the hem of her crop top is well above her belly button. She could do with a massage, or ten. Oh, to be young and fearless again. Is this what growing up feels like? She pads over to the kitchen and opts for brewing some tea while she's there, too. Maybe this time she will drink the whole thing instead of just half of it. Then she remembers about the mess on the desk and gets back to that. She carries to the kitchen what belongs to the kitchen, throws away what belongs in the trash. She sets Plato's book to the side but doesn't close it. Maybe she'll get around to finishing it tonight, after writing some more. She puts away the pens that have been left discarded by her own messy hand, closes her Moleskine and puts it back on its rightful place next to the books she keeps going back to for reference: works of fiction and nonfiction alike. She takes a quick look at her planner before putting it to the side as well, just to make sure her deadline is still a day and a half away.

She checks on the water and sees that it is ready. _What will it be today, m'am?_ a voice tells her—a bartender's; he has a thick, hipster mustache and he is British. Anna's mind goes somewhere for a second: tea bars. Is that a thing? If not, it should be. But in Great Britain, not here. New York should have coffee bars. _They're called coffee shops_ , _you_ _genius._ Anna snorts as she pours the hot water in a cup. She's opted for chamomile, and she dips the bag in and out for a few seconds before she decides to have the ice cream too. She restocked on chocolate gelato the other day. It's time to dig in and keep eating until she realizes she's almost gone through all of it in one sitting—again.

On her way back to the desk Anna stops short of heading towards her two picture boards instead. She wishes she didn't feel that instinct kick in almost every time. Or perhaps it's a need. One she is too weary to give in to often. Those boards are full of Elsa; of every moment Anna has sometimes wished she could forget; of every memory that almost drives her to take off the boards altogether. So why hasn't she? There's no heart for it. Getting rid of those boards and throwing those photos in some box destined to gather dust almost feels like obliterating their past completely.

Anna sits down with another grunt, and suddenly she is seventy. If somebody at NYU had told her that pursuing a career as a writer came with lower back pain from so much sitting she would have reconsidered. Or perhaps she wouldn't have. But she would have liked to have that option. She stares at the screen, at the ever-mocking cursor that goes on blinking and waiting for the next word to come out of her mind, through her fingertips and onto the document.

_What if we are meant to create our own universe first?_

_Dot, dot, dot,_ Anna thinks. She feels as though she's lost the thread for the night. But maybe that's okay. She was only working ahead after all. She could arrive to work earlier tomorrow and get a good start with a fresher mind. Yes, she decides, that's what she will do. With another exhale she rests her head back against the chair.

She searches within herself, checks in to see how she's doing. Anna has caught herself doing this more and more often. She thinks she may have read it somewhere but she is not sure. She got caught up on self-help books for about half a year before calling it quits. Reading was one thing; knowing how to apply active positive thinking into her life was another. And Anna _did_ learn something. She learned that she had no idea how to do that.

Quitting her job was where it all began. It occurred months after she and Elsa agreed to take a break, and mere weeks after she felt as though she had finally reached rock bottom. She became bitter and resentful; an ugly version of herself she was half grateful Elsa did not get to see. She would arrive to work with a great sense of despondency and abhorred almost everything that came out of Hans's mouth. She despised what she did and in return, she hated herself for it. She considered herself ungrateful, not good enough for anything other than what was expected of her, until she felt the suffocating need for an out.

Desperation was the sole driving force that led her to turn in her two weeks notice, and Hans had not been happy about it. He had been stoic and dismissive. For once, it seemed like he was not getting what he wanted and in response he had tightened his jaw, hardened his green eyes, and thrown the notice onto the pile of paperwork he never bothered to read.

"So that's it then," he'd said, "You could have added a more heartfelt thank you in there for all the shit I taught you."

Anna had frowned, anger seeping through the cracks. "I was going to do that in person."

But Hans was already moving on. "Call up Henderson and set up a meeting with him."

Rationality overpowered her pride and she stayed back, hoping that she would find a job soon and wishing for the next two weeks to fly by faster than a goddamn comet. Her time would come, she told herself. She had to. It was the only thing that got her through those weeks with the remaining of her sanity still intact.

Lauren Hoffman had been the only saving grace of the shitshow that was her quitting period. She must have found out through Hans before Anna had the chance—and the courage—to approach her, because two days later she was inviting her out for lunch right in front of a bewildered, and perhaps even indignant, Hans. It was Lauren who told her to stay in touch, and it was she who offered the letter of recommendation. It was Anna, however, who kept wondering why Lauren seemed so keen on taking her under her wing.

"Because I see bits of myself in you," she'd responded with an ease Anna continuously wished she could borrow from. "And you're a smart girl. Working as somebody's assistant doesn't seem like the type of thing you're meant to be doing."

 _I don't know what I'm meant to be doing,_ Anna had wanted to say, but instead she'd thanked her with as much profundity and gratitude as she could muster without giving in to a snotty crying session.

Her search for a new job went well past the remaining two weeks of assisting Hans, his whims and his needs. It was to be expected, but it did not stop her from letting out a huge sigh of relief when she walked out of her third interview at the main offices of New York Magazine. She knew she'd gotten the job partly because of her promising capabilities; partly due to her interpersonal skills and blabbering mouth; but mostly because of Lauren's letter of recommendation. _Hoffman & Co. Literary Agency _had been printed on top of it—fancy font and all—, Hans's name was nowhere to be seen, and Lauren had made sure to provide her own telephone number right below her flourishy, stylish signature. Anna had laughed in the elevator on her way out, nervous and happy all at once, half-thinking that Hans would get back at her for this. Somehow. One day.

The job was nothing to complain about. In fact, it was... good. She felt useful in a different way; in a way that made her feel as though she was moving forward instead of shifting around in the same spot. She got to write—because she had to. That writing habit that had lay dormant for so long had to take over, and suddenly Anna found herself understanding what so many professors used to say class after class: write, even when you think nothing will come out of it.

The self-help books came not too long after that, however, when she started to reach a comfortable stability that somehow didn't feel right. One book told her how to commit to her goals, the other one told her about the habits of highly effective people. She went through guides, autobiographies, training courses, until she reached the conclusion that self-help books were headache-inducing. So she chose to turn to words that were her own. Hesitating at first, Anna searched deep within herself. She sought out the yearning she felt for a love that seemed lost and converted it all into writing, hoping that one day Elsa would be the one to read it.

After so long, these were the first words that came straight out of her heart, and Anna did not realize how much of a sacrifice it had all been until she found herself staring, with tears streaming down her eyes, at her own written words.

Anna closes her laptop with finality, and for a second she is enveloped in the lonely silence of her apartment. She takes a pause to breathe in deeply, not willing to recognize that she's never been the best at being alone, but knowing it is something she has to learn.

She moves her ice cream and her cup of tea to the bedside table before she comes back to pick up _The Symposium_. She settles herself in bed, under the covers, and studies for a second the cover of the book. Her fingers trail over the printed letters as silence engulfs her once more; the sound of absence, heavy and deafening. Her heart aches with longing but she tries her best to ignore it.

"Seems like it's just you and me tonight," she says with a sigh. "Just you and I..."

* * *

Anna was running just a tad bit late. Or, the train was. But it's not like she could push her way through the midday commuting crowd, reach the front compartment and ask the operator to speed it up because she was supposed to have met up with her father fifteen minutes ago. Or tell him to skip Port Authority and 50th Street and go straight to Columbus because _someone_ decided it was a good idea to watch the entire first season of a new show last night and at twenty-six years old had not yet learned the concept of being on time.

Columbus Circle is an 8 on her tourist scale (Times Square is a 13—out of 10) which makes it mildly tolerable to get through. It seems as though tourists never know how to figure out New York's railway system until they reach their second to last day of being in the city. As a result, they clog the stations with their larger-than-life backpacks, don't know how to go up the stairs at a properly brisk pace, and the swiping... _good lord_ , the swiping of a Metro Card is the hardest thing for them to figure out. They do it too slow or too fast; they do it backwards; they swipe correctly and then forget how to walk through the turnstile. Anna tries not to lose her patience often. Everyone was once new to the city after all. But today she did kind of lose it. Who stops to check a map in the middle of walking up the stairs?

She's agreed to meet her father today out of... she doesn't know what, exactly. She felt lonely, and meeting up with him even though she hasn't seen him in many months seemed like a good idea at the time. It still sort of did. Or... well... at least she was out of the apartment.

Anna finds him propped against the railing outside of the train station. He smiles at her as soon as he sees her before she mirrors it with a gentle version of her own. He's clean shaven this time around, looking younger than he really is, while his clothes are neat and well-fitted, as if he's just stepped out of a makeover show.

"You look nice," she tells him.

"So do you." He points at her yellow t-shirt. "New shirt?" he tries.

"Uh, no," she says, "I bought it last year."

Her father nods with a quick albeit awkward smile, but Anna doesn't hold it against him. They don't see each other often enough for him to know what she starts or stops wearing. And it is better this way, she's come to think. Ever since her parents' divorce it seems to be as though they have all stopped pretending. Her mother has stopped pretending that being a caring person came naturally to her, her father has stopped pretending that he had been doing enough of an effort, and Anna has stopped pretending that their family was a salvageable thing. And no, she did not learn that during her self-help journey.

After weaving through the paths of Central Park for a while and catching up through conversations that pause and resume amidst wells of silence, they stop by a food stand. Her father buys a lemonade for her and a coke for himself before they head towards the Conservatory Water pond and find an unoccupied bench. Anna watches a group of kids standing by the edge, pointing at a model sailboat one of them is controlling with a remote.

"Remember your birthday trip?"

She turns to her father. "When I was fourteen?"

He nods.

"I thought you said that was a pre-high school trip or something."

"It was a little bit of both."

Anna looks back at the kids and the sailboat. They're beginning to run along the edge, following its little adventure across the pond. "I remember mom got very sick because of me."

There is a pause, but she doesn't bother checking. "It wasn't your fault," her father says, "You didn't force that hot dog down her throat."

She scrunches her nose. "That's a mental image I didn't need in my life."

He laughs, drawing an unconscious smile out of Anna. She goes on taking small sips of her lemonade, facing away from her father. "You know, I felt pretty guilty for a long time," she tells him.

"I know you did," he admits softly. He grows silent for a while before he adds: "I'm sorry I never tried to convince you otherwise."

Anna shrugs, wondering why she even brought it up. It'd escaped her before she had the chance to consider the response it would elicit, like a detached notion; a thought developed in somebody else's mind.

"We were crappy parents, weren't we?" her father suddenly asks.

She turns to him for this. "I'm—is that a rhetorical question?"

They stare at each other for a few seconds until Anna feels the beginnings of a laugh bubble up in her chest. She knows she shouldn't laugh at the expense of her younger self's sorrows, and none of it is funny anyway. Yet, Anna feels the tension rise up and escape through her parted lips in an airy chuckle that slowly builds up into a giggle. She would have gone for irredeemable parenting. It sounds nicer than crappy parents.

Next to Anna, her father is smiling hesitatingly, bewildered at her reaction. "What's so funny?"

"I don't know," she says, still giggling. "I'd waited for you to admit that for so long that now it almost sounds..."

"Ridiculous?"

"Maybe," she chuckles.

A sad smile takes over his features. "For what it's worth," he tells her, "I'm proud of the person you've become."

She's unsure of whether she should thank him for saying that. So she nods instead before she states, "I have a long way to go."

The model sailboat goes on cruising across the green pond, breaking through the reflections of the buildings across the street, leaving ripples at its wake. The kids are still rallying as if the boat were competing in a race. The boy with the remote is smirking, blatantly showing off.

Anna sometimes wishes she were a kid again, back when her only worries were to score as many goals as she could on her next soccer game and whether they'd have enough Cocoa Puffs at home when she returned. But instead she's reached the point where she laughs at teenagers who say they can't wait to be a grown up. Because how do you explain an existential crisis to a fourteen year old? How do you explain to them the difference between a job and a passion, and how hard it can be to bring the two of them together in this shitshow of a world? How do you explain to them, 'If you find your person, Do. Not. Fuck. Up'?

"Dad," she blurts out without looking away from the sailboat. It's approaching another sailboat now. She wonders if there will be a wreckage. Her father hums in acknowledgement. "Do you ever regret divorcing mom?"

He exhales deeply. "I think it was for our own good."

"So... no."

"It's more complicated than that, sweetheart. I never stopped loving your mother, but things change. People change. And sometimes those changes are no longer compatible with the person you once thought you'd be spending the rest of your life with."

"But that's sad."

"Love comes with sadness."

"I'm going to steal that quote," she says after a slurp off her lemonade. She doesn't want to discuss just how much sadness comes with love. She _knows_ how much sadness comes with it. She has known for the past three years.

"Are you writing anything at the moment?"

"No. I mean, yes. Technically. I've been writing a lot of entries for work, which I think is better than nothing."

"It's better than it was a few years ago, is it not?"

"At least, yeah." The sailboats have not crashed against each other. With all that space, how silly would it have been if they had? "I just hope one day I can reach that point where I can be proud of myself too."

Her father pats her knee. "I think you're reaching it."

Anna bites her lip. She thinks she is reaching something, but it doesn't quite feel like it's that.

* * *

The kitchen smells like tangy cheese, herbs and the tears of twenty-somethings and thirty-somethings trying to fix their lives via expensive cooking lessons. Anna feels right at home. Plus, the wine is free.

Abigail, their instructor, is supposed to teach them how to make grilled camembert tonight. Well, she _is_ doing the instructing—quite well, in fact. Anna and company are the ones supposed to be following along, although it is proving to be a hard task. Rapunzel has the attention span of a puppy and Kristoff keeps getting distracted by the pretty brunette standing on the other side of the table. He keeps trying to catch her attention but so far all he's accomplished is a wine stain on his shirt and a band-aid around his index. Abigail had asked him to put a finger cot on while Rapunzel had leaned towards Anna and whispered, "Isn't that a finger condom?"

The sound of knives hitting the wooden surface of the table and Abigail's mellow voice as she explains someone what kosher means reaches Anna's ears just enough that her focus on Rapunzel doesn't shift.

"... we thought about adopting a dog at first but then I had the strangest dream and I told him I wanted to get a chameleon instead."

"A what?"

"Did you just say a chameleon?" Kristoff asks from the other side of Anna.

"Yeah. Why?"

"That's a strange pet to have don't you think?" Anna says without looking up from her cherries. She's never pitted cherries before. It's quite entertaining.

"People have snakes in fish tanks and you don't see society batting an eye."

"No, it just thinks they're psychos," Kristoff quips.

"I'd like to give them the benefit of the doubt."

"Who? The snakes?"

"No, the psychos."

"Oh."

"What was the dream about anyway?" asks Anna.

"Well," Rapunzel says, "The dream was that I had a chameleon. As a pet. And it was very friendly."

The two of them stare at her.

"Okay, once we're all done with the cherries," the instructor announces with her mellow voice, "We're going to set our saucepans over medium-high heat. If you look in the cupboards underneath the table, you should be able to find one pan for each of you. I'll be doing rounds in a minute to let you know how much seasoning we should add to the mix."

"I barely have three cherries done," Kristoff mumbles.

"Chop, chop, Bimbo boy."

Anna snorts before she takes a sip of her wine. She allows the chilled liquid to rest in her mouth as she mulls over the deep sense of anticipation that always arises on evenings like this.

"So," she clears her throat, sets down the glass back on the table, returns to her cherries, "How is Elsa?"

"She's fine," Rapunzel replies.

A dead end. Anna glances at Kristoff who raises his shoulders and looks at her as though saying, 'Don't ask me.' He's having a hard time with the cherries as it is.

So she tries another tactic. "Are things going well at the hospital?"

"Yup."

She bites her lip. "Are you angry that I'm asking about Elsa?"

Rapunzel lifts up the knife she's using and waves it in Anna's direction before a gentle hand reaches out and touches her wrist, urging her to lower the weapon. "Knives are for chopping food, not our friends," Abigail tells her. She's smiling as she says this, but Anna doubts it's entirely genuine. She wonders how often people end up waving knives at each other during class; how many of them are psychos; and how many of them have snakes as pets.

"You're almost done with the cherries," Abigail then notes. "When you finish you guys are going to add them to the pan, along with the rosemary. Now, we're going to be adding one teaspoon of sugar, one quarter teaspoon of salt and one quarter teaspoon of black pepper." Kristoff is the only one keen on listening tonight. Rapunzel seems to be back to pitting cherries and is barely showing that she's paying attention, and Anna is thinking about whether or not Rapunzel is actually pissed.

When the chef has moved on Anna leans closer to her friend, not without making sure the knife isn't anywhere near her.

"I'm sorry if you got mad," she says.

"I'm not mad," Rapunzel responds, "But you don't get to ask me that anymore."

"May I ask why though?"

"Let me finish my cherries."

"Uh... okay?"

Anna has no idea what is happening but she goes along with what everyone else is doing, which is cooking, which is what they all paid to do—besides the free drinking that came with it. They begin to cook the cherries until some juice has been released and slightly thickened. The kitchen smells wonderful and despite the mild dread clutching at her heart, Anna would be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward to eating this.

Once the group of ten adults currently experiencing some type of existential crisis has moved on to preheating the grill, Rapunzel finally speaks.

"I need to ask you something, and Kristoff, I need you to back me up on this."

"That's dubious but okay."

Anna downs her wine. "What is it?"

"It's been three years," she says, "Why are you still so hung up on each other? I mean at this point we're all starting to worry and, honestly, it's also kinda sad."

From behind Anna, Kristoff hums. There's that same feeling of dread taking over her whole body as she considers an answer. She realizes just now how pathetic this must be to all of them. That she still thinks about Elsa after all this time; that she has been unable to move on. And how much of a coward, too; that she should be asking others and that she isn't brave enough to be doing the reaching out herself. But how can she make this clear to them? How could she possibly explain that what happened that night did not feel like the end?

"Because it doesn't feel like a break up," Anna finally confesses. She has begun stirring the cooling cherry mix that's on the saucepan, seeking a distraction so that she doesn't have to look her friend in the eye.

"What do you mean?" Kristoff asks.

"We agreed we would take a break," she explains, "But I think neither one of us thought it would be this long, so in our minds—or at least in mine—I always stuck to the idea that we would get back together."

They're interrupted once more by Abigail. She shows them how to place the camembert cheese on the grill rack before she steps away with an encouraging smile that Anna is barely capable of returning.

"It's been three years, Anna."

"I know."

"So why haven't you? Gotten back, I mean."

"I don't know... Life, I guess."

Rapunzel stares at her.

"That's a dumb reason," Kristoff says.

"Don't I know it," she mumbles.

"But you see, that's the thing." Rapunzel is speaking at her camembert cheese. She's checking to see if the rind is soft. "You _know_ what's going on. You know it's been three years and that you're still clinging to this idea that you didn't actually break up or whatever, but you're not actually _doing_ anything to fix this. It's like the two of you are on a limbo, Anna. Get your shit together already."

"She's right." It's Kristoff. He's picking at the cherries in his saucepan while glancing at the pretty brunette. Anna has to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

"You're supposed to put those on top of your cheese."

He shrugs. "Don't try to change the topic."

Anna huffs out a frustrated sigh. "So what do you suggest I do?" she asks, not too eager to hear the answer but willing still to seek it.

Rapunzel doesn't respond right away. She takes her time inverting the cheese onto a plate, and Anna figures she should be doing the same before the whole kitchen smells like burnt aging cheese. Abigail instructs them to spoon the cherry mixture—without the cherries, in Kristoff's case—over the grilled top. She goes about refilling the glasses of wine for those who want to accompany their treat with it, while Anna has half a mind to ask her to fill it to the brim.

It's time for the group's post-cooking relaxation, although there's nothing relaxing about the conversation Rapunzel is leading. "I hope you don't hate me for what I'm about to suggest."

"I won't."

The girl doesn't seem to believe her, but she continues regardless. "I think you have to stop being somewhere in the middle. So either you talk it out or you break it off completely."

Despite herself, this knocks the air out of Anna. It is the thought of losing Elsa completely that feels like a fist clenching at her heart. As if the expectancy and the longing were suddenly pouncing on her from the darkest corner of her being. As if this shell that still had the shape of Elsa were beginning to close in on itself, leaving her breathless.

She feels a hefty hand on her shoulder, but Anna doesn't need to look sideways to know that it's Kristoff who's giving her a comforting squeeze. It isn't until she reaches for the recently filled glass of wine to down almost the entirety of it that Rapunzel reconsiders her approach.

"Okay, maybe I should have said it differently."

"No, you're right," she mutters, grimacing at the alcohol that's burnt its way down her throat.

"You okay?" Kristoff asks her.

"Define okay."

"So maybe not."

Rapunzel touches her arm. "Do you need stronger alcohol?"

Anna nods dumbly.

"Okay." She reaches out to give her a hug, squeezing hard. "I know just the place to get you hammered."

* * *

The Library sells knock-out strong drinks for cheap and half of New York City knows this. It is a dive bar: punk rock music that plays from a jukebox covered in street art stickers, dim lighting and neon beer signs, female bartenders covered in tattoos, and the portraits of famous authors graffitied on the walls. Anna is distracted by the caricaturesque picture of Edgar Allan Poe while Rapunzel orders drinks for the three of them. With alcohol this cheap it is a pay-for-a-round-each-until-one-of-us-passes-out kind of night. Except that Rapunzel seems to be aiming for a pass-out sooner rather than later because she's bought shots instead of drinks.

"Tequila," she exclaims over the sound of Sum 41 rocking _In Too Deep_ , then hands them each a lime. They knock back the shot. It burns. Like a motherfucker. And Anna feels the need to stamp her foot while she sucks on the lime, Kristoff 's hair flies back and forth as he shakes his head like a dog trying to get dry, and Rapunzel is grinning at the two of them as if she'd just drank water instead of tequila.

Kristoff buys the next round right away: Two Long Islands and one draft beer for himself because one of them needs to stay sober enough to not fall asleep on the train and have them all end up in the Bronx. Anna drinks off her Long Island. It tastes like absolute hell, but somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks, _This will do._ By the time she's halfway through the drink she feels quite buzzed, loose enough that the first traces of inhibition are beginning to fall off.

"From one to ten," Kristoff shouts above the music, "What are my chances with the pretty girl from the cooking class?"

"Nine—"

"Two."

Anna turns to Rapunzel. "He's not that bad."

"He needs improvement."

"I'm right here, you guys."

They both turn to him, but it is Anna who speaks. "You need to step up your game. Looking can come off as creepy if that's all you end up doing."

"That was literally my first time there, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Say hi!" Rapunzel exclaims. "That's what Eugene did and look at us now getting a pet together."

"You're getting a lizard that hardly counts as a pet."

"It's a chameleon, Kris. A cha-me-leon."

Kristoff rolls his eyes before he looks at Anna. "What do you think I should have done?"

Anna shrugs. "Said hi."

He throws his head back with a groan and despite his frustration Anna can't help but smile. She wants to say it's not that hard saying hi but she is busy sipping her drink and glancing at the room once more. That's what Elsa did too; she'd said hi. She'd come over with that soothingly quiet demeanor, one hand in the pocket of her leather jacket and another one holding a red Solo cup. How confident she'd looked that night; how sure of herself despite Anna knowing now how nervous she had been. As if she had known all along that Anna's heart would hopelessly belong to her no matter how she introduced herself.

"Anna—"

And hadn't Elsa asked her why she wrote?

"Dude—"

She wonders if they had known back then what would have happened later on, would they still have decided to be together?

"Anna!"

She snaps out of it. "What happened?"

"You spaced out that's what happened."

"I was looking at the graffiti."

Rapunzel eyes her with suspicion. "Uh-huh. Sure."

When Anna finally turns towards the bar to buy the next round she feels a pair of eyes on her. She looks to her left and sees nothing. Then to the right. A girl has her eyes fixed on her. She has short, black hair. And a smirk. And tattoos on her hand as far as Anna can see. _Looking can come off as creepy_ , she thinks before she glances away. She doesn't need this right now, she tells herself. The music feels much louder, but in a good way. A way that makes her feel as though she could drown her senses in it. _When Your Heart Stops Beating_ is playing now. The guitar and the drums are doing things to her overly sensitive brain, and Anna decides she might be tiptoeing on her way to drunk.

The second Long Island tastes just as strong as the first one, but tonight she doesn't feel like slowing down. Tonight she feels like being taken away by the current.

"I think I needed this," she shouts in the general direction of her friends.

"Which part?" Kristoff asks, "Cause you were having a minor breakdown not too long ago."

She glares at him. "This part."

"What 'bout my pep talk?"

Anna rises the glass up to her lips but stops short at the question. "That was hardly a pep talk, Raps. You pointed a knife at me."

The girl narrows her glassy, mildly unfocused eyes. "I gave you an advice."

"Is it going to be one of those things where you listen to the advice but don't follow it?" Kristoff asks.

Anna swerves her head towards him and feels her whole body follow. "Doing that is gonna be hard. You're practically tellin' me that I should never see or talk to Elsa again."

Rapunzel leans in. "I also told you to talk it out in the same sentence, were you not paying attention?"

The music is still blasting, the conversations are getting louder, and Anna is growing frustrated and overwhelmed. "You have to... put yourself in my shoes for a moment, Rapunzel." She is having a hard time gathering her thoughts. She touches her forehead to see if that'll help but it doesn't. "It's been three years," she says loudly, painfully. "How do I knock on her door and say, 'Hey, I'm not quite there yet on my personal growth but I'm gettin' somewhere. Will you be my girlfriend again?'"

"She moved."

She turns to Kristoff. "What?"

"She moved apartments so you can't go knock on her door because you don't know where she lives anymore."

"I know she moved," she mumbles. She doesn't admit that she doesn't know _where._ Anna closes her eyes and immediately realizes what a bad idea that is. She can feel her whole body swivel from the alcohol that's now catching up to her.

"Are you waiting for some miracle to happen?" Rapunzel half-shouts, half-asks.

"Why would I—no. _No._ "

"Anna, I love you. But Elsa is my cousin and my best friend, and if I didn't kick your ass before I will this time."

She feels a spark of indignation at this. "It was a mutual agreement, you know?"

Rapunzel slams her hand down on the bar, making Kristoff jump. "You two took a break because _you_ needed it more than _she_ did."

"That's harsh, Raps," Kristoff points out.

"I know, I'm sorry, that was louder than I expected." She places her hand on Anna's shoulder then, squeezing with the same affection as always. Anna can see she's gathering whatever sobriety is left in her to say her next words. "I won't bring this up again unless you want me to, mkay? But... you guys were so good for each other. I don't know where you two went wrong and I don't know the details 'cause Elsa still won't tell me. But three years is too long of a time to still be stuck somewhere in the middle. It's not good, for either of you."

Anna's head is spinning as she tries her best to nod without feeling sick. Somewhere in the back of her hazy mind she knows all of this to be true. Life doesn't just happen. It is molded by our own decisions. The fact that Elsa, but especially Anna, has gone all this time without knowing how to reach out is something that weighs on her constantly. But that's what a coward does and Anna doesn't want to be that person anymore. She doesn't want to be the one who stares longingly at the girl from across the dance floor, she wants to be the one who struts all the way to where she's sitting, extends a hand, and asks her out on a dance. She wants to—

Anna feels a sickening sensation forming at the pit of her stomach. "Guys," she says, "I think I'm gonna throw up."

* * *

She stumbles inside her apartment without turning on the lights. The nausea is gone—flushed down the toilet by now—but her drunkenness is still very much present, with its feet cemented right there in the part of her brain that takes care of controlling her body. Or something like that. She has no clue. Elsa would know how alcohol works.

She wants to reach the bed but the bed feels so far away. So she leans against the counter of her kitchen, calculates the distance between where she stands and where the bed is. Everything is spinning. Or maybe she is. Anna thinks she should brush her teeth but the task seems impossible right now. Water. She should drink water. She opens the cupboard with her left hand while she supports herself with her right elbow. She leans stupidly close to the sink and watches with drunken fascination as the water flows out and into the glass. Everything feels as if it has slowed down. Anna doesn't remember the last time she was this drunk. She hates it.

She takes the thousand steps towards the bed feeling like a baby learning how to walk. She gulps the water, sets the almost empty glass on the nightstand, and plops on the bed. She hasn't bothered changing out of her clothes either. She doubts she could even if she wanted to.

She reaches for the pillow, just like every night, and hugs it tight. With her eyes closed, Anna can feel herself get lost to the delusional sensation of it being something it is not. It is all exacerbated by the alcohol coursing through her veins; the longing; the wish for an anchor; the sensation that she's about to burst into a very ugly crying session if she doesn't think about something else. But her mind isn't functioning right, and Anna understands this need for a distraction as reaching for her phone and going through her contact list. Her eyes are barely open and her inhibitions and rationality have flown out the fucking window, but she still stops herself when she reaches Elsa's number.

Her thumb hovers over the dialing button as she wonders how much of this is love and how much of this is selfishness. Prolonging something that perhaps didn't need to be prolonged... Has she been selfish this whole time? Then again, how could she possibly look Elsa in the eye and ask her to go back to what they were before? Wouldn't that make her a cynic? An actual egotistical prick? Her eyes are beginning to close, her hand is beginning to lower, but the dialing tone rouses her again. In a second Anna is fully awake and entirely sober.

" _Shit._ " She presses the red button over and over again until the dialing screen disappears entirely. Anna can feel her pulse thrumming in her ears. "Shit," she says again, "Shitshitshitshitshit." She throws the phone towards the other side of the bed and cringes when she hears it hit the floor.

Anna curls up with the pillow wrapped in her arms. She buries her nose in and closes her eyes tightly. Despite feeling like an idiot she can't help but wonder what she would have said if she'd allowed the call to go through; if Elsa had answered at all. There is so much she would have said that her mind is fuzzy from it. But there is one thing that is perfectly clear. It stands alone, gleaming as brightly as those neon lights from the bar in the cloudiness that is her consciousness right now.

"I miss you," she whispers, tightening her hold around her pillow as she feels the absence of Elsa blanket over her like shadows in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two chapters have acted as a breather of sorts, to see what the girls have been up to the past three years. But don't worry, things will pick up starting the next one. As always, let me know what you guys think!!


	34. This is how you lose her, pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The love you constantly give this work gets me going. Thank youuuu. As always comments and feedback are appreciated, even if its just some good ol' keysmashing

One-two, one-two, one-two, one-two...

The tension begins at her padded knuckles and shoots straight to her shoulder each time she hits the bag with a jab. Elsa inhales deeply and fixes her stance again. Right foot front, left foot back, legs slightly bent at the knees. Her chin is low and protected by the gloves, her eyes are hard-set on the heavy, dangling bag. She throws a punch with her right, then charges full-force with her left. One-two, one-two, one-two. She pays close attention to the position of her fists, the line of her arms. Droplets of sweat are accumulating where her hair meets her forehead, the fabric of her sports bra is beginning to stick to the damp skin of her back. Her heartbeat quickens as she does her best to keep her breathing under control: a short bust of air for each explosive hit. She switches rhythm the next second. One-two-three, one-two-three. Left-right-left, left-right-left. She hits as hard as she can, increases her velocity, raises the stakes. She pushes herself until her arms begin to burn and her lungs beg for a break.

Elsa steps away from the bag, her chest heaving with each deep breath she takes. She rolls her shoulders back, rotates her neck slowly. In her ears, _Back in Black_ is reaching an end (music courtesy of Eugene, his boxing lessons and his playlist titled _'for throwing fists',_ which would have never been her first option if not for the amount of stamina she realized she got from one song alone). After pulling off her right glove, she picks up the bottle of water that sits next to her gym sack. She takes a sip—enough to refresh—then sets the bottle back on the floor. Elsa doesn't waste any more time. She puts on her glove, making sure the strap is tight around her wrist, and walks back towards the punching bag. Led Zeppelin—she _thinks_ it's him (them?)—is now rocking her eardrums. The louder, the better. She doesn't wish to be distracted by her own thoughts.

Which is partly why she comes here at the ass-crack of dawn. Nobody in her apartment building seems to want to workout at 6 AM, so the gym in the basement has been solely hers for one hour every morning since the day Eugene offered to teach her the basics of throwing a good punch. And what a great release this has been. Lately now more than ever, but especially today—Elsa shakes her head. She is _not_ thinking about that right now. She positions herself again and throws a few light punches at the bag. She decides this is not Led Zeppelin but more like... Metallica. No, that doesn't sound right. She adds more heftiness to her jabs, tries a few hooks, begins to build up to it. The more her mind threatens to think back to what she found this morning in her cellphone, the harder she hits. She is letting out her frustration and her confusion, and smashing them both with her fists.

A thought suddenly slips into her conscience: This is not fair. A second thought immediately follows: What is Anna playing at? Elsa throws a jab that pushes the bag farther than usual while the impact feels like an echo of tension in her arm. She shifts her stance and does it again with her right fist. The right half of her body moves with the charging action, just like Eugene taught her. _Rotate your hips, use your body weight._ She's decreased her speed by now, ignored the music blasting in her ears. Elsa is not working out anymore. She is searching for an outlet.

One missed call at one in the morning. No follow-up text. Had it been so much of a mistake that Anna couldn't bring herself to finally burst through the door she's now left ajar? One-two. So what now? Is Elsa supposed to call her back? Fix whatever it is they're dealing with? One-two. One-two. One- _two_. She tightens her jaw. Leave it to Anna to turn this into a messy pile of confusion. What if it was a butt-dial? What if she was half asleep and somehow pressed dial and didn't even remember it this morning? No. Elsa slept with her phone on her nightstand. It had not rung. Anna must have dialed and pressed the stupid Hang Up button right afterwards.

Her triceps are beginning to burn, but her breathing is controlled and Elsa refuses to stop. She throws a left jab, a right jab, a left hook. One quick combination after the other. If anyone were to enter the room right now they would think she's imagining someone's face on the punching bag. But whose face, exactly? Anna's? The idea is appalling. She could never summon her face this way. Because Elsa still loves her. And she absolutely _hates_ —jab—that she—jab—still—jab— _loves_ her.

Elsa throws herself at the bag with numb, heavy arms and a deep intake of air. She's done for the morning. She cannot go on anymore.

The muscles in her arms feel a few pounds heavier as she clumsily undoes the straps of her gloves. She pulls at each of them slowly, then clenches and unclenches her hands a few times, examining them. They are sticky with sweat, shaky from all the gathered tension. Her knuckles have turned an angry shade of red. Nothing that won't go away by itself in a few hours, Elsa thinks.

She doesn't stop anywhere to rest. She reaches her apartment while her breathing is still trying to regulate itself. The sneakers go back to their rightful place by the door, the gym sack with her gloves inside goes back to where it hangs in the closet. The music is put to a stop in the middle of Axl Rose hitting a high note in _Welcome to the Jungle_ (she only knows his name because Eugene wouldn't shut up about him). She takes her cursed phone and her pager with her to the bathroom. Once there, she undresses slowly. The loose, white tank top goes first. The black sports bra goes second, albeit with a bit more of a struggle.

Elsa catches a glimpse and stops to examine her naked upper body in the mirror: the reddened skin of her collarbone, her breasts, her lithe figure, the faint but growing shape of muscle in her arms. She touches her flat stomach, traces with her fingertips the skin she finds there. She likes to think she's in good shape. She likes to think that her body is something some may call 'hot'. Yet how long has it been since she's felt admired? Or wanted? How long has it been since she's received a genuine boost of confidence?

Her hand drops to the side defeatedly. She wants to smack Anna in the forehead. And smack herself too while she's at it. Because a missed phone call shouldn't be taking this much of a toll on her. It shouldn't be making her want to punch a bag until her arms turn into useless extremities, nor have her want to throw her phone across the room in a sudden burst of giddiness first thing in the morning—which is definitely _not_ what Elsa felt like doing.

But the thing Elsa wants most; the one thing she deeply craves as she discards the rest of her clothes, as she steps under the hot downpour, as she lets the water cover her naked body; the one thing she wants with her whole being is for this endless break to reach an end once and for all.

* * *

The old man shuffles slowly into her clinic room. He takes off his hat and collapses into the chair. The last time Elsa had seen him was about two weeks ago, when he'd first shown her the magnet strapped to his chest. He had not looked as bad as today.

He leans forward, a clean-shaven, lean man whose suit fit him two sizes too big. "The shortness of breath is getting worse," he growls. "The meds you prescribed aren't helping, doc."

Gerald, with the weak and enlarged heart, who gets winded after only a few steps and who, several weeks prior, collapsed on the stairs to his apartment and had to be carried up by his neighbors. He grips Elsa's hands as he hobbles onto the exam table. She puts the rubber buds of the stethoscope in her ears, all the while catching her initials engraved on the back of its diaphragm but ignoring the memory it elicits.

She's about to begin the auscultation when she pulls out the rubber buds again.

"Are you still wearing the magnet?"

"Sure am." He lifts up his shirt. Strapped to his chest and wrapped in duct tape is a magnet that he then takes off and hands over to her. It must weigh a couple of pounds at least.

"Is it helping you in any way?" she asks with a dubious tone.

"Magnetic fields dilate blood vessels," he lectures her—then shrugs, "Or something like that. But ever since I started putting it on my chest my heart failure's gotten better and that's what matters."

Elsa looks at him skeptically. "That's not—there hasn't been any real improvement, Gerald. We both know this."

He takes the magnet off her hands as if she'd just insulted him, his mother and the magnet all at once. "So what's the alternative? 'Cause like I said, your medications aren't helping either."

She bites the inside of her cheek. There are only two options for him: a surgically implanted defibrillator that costs more than Elsa's yearly rent, or hospice care. But while both options sound bleak and dispiriting, Elsa doesn't have it in her to discuss the alternative if he were to continue on the path he's chosen so far. She doesn't want to tell him he is probably going to live at least a year, but certainly not more than five.

"Have you given any thought to the defibrillator like I asked you to?"

His shoulders drop, and suddenly he does not look like a stubborn, sixty-four year old man who's precariously gone through life making bad decisions just like everybody else—living off herbals and magnets and a bad diet—, but like a kid, despondent, scared and disillusioned.

"Is that really my only option?" he asks.

"It's our most viable."

"And how's it go? The procedure. Is it painful?"

She shakes her head. Now that he's no longer looking at her as though she's insulted the foundation upon which he bases his entire knowledge, and that there's nothing strapped to his chest, Elsa reaches for her stethoscope again. "It's a pretty standard procedure," she says before popping the buds back into her ears. She listens for a few seconds to his waterlogged lungs caused by his congestive heart failure. "It's local anesthesia so you don't have to worry about that crappy feeling you get after waking up." She presses the diaphragm on the right side of his sternum and listens closely, searching for any new heart murmurs. Unlike the clear 'lub-dub' sound of a healthy heart, the sound that reaches her ears is a less coherent, galloping rhythm.

"How long does it last?" Gerald's voice sounds loud but muffled.

She shifts the diaphragm to the left side and listens for another handful of seconds before she responds, "About three hours."

"And what about a heart transplant?"

Elsa lowers her hand, stares at him. "You're not eligible for a heart transplant, remember?"

"Right." He deflates again. "Was just checking my options."

Her lips twitch into a smile. She wonders how a heart transplant could possibly sound less risky and less scary than a defibrillator implant, but she doesn't question it out loud. If there is one thing Elsa has learned as a cardiologist fellow, it is that the way the human mind works will never make sense to her. She's the perfect example of it, what with still being hung up on her ex-but-not-really-ex-girlfriend after all these years and being unable to establish a deep, emotional connection with anyone else for the time being.

When she finishes listening to Gerald's heart Elsa drapes the stethoscope around her neck. She doesn't deny the fact that she takes utmost care when it comes to this one instrument. But the reason is ambiguous, even to her. So she simply tells herself that a good stethoscope is expensive and that it has nothing to do with the fact that Anna gave it to her as a graduation present four years ago.

"Will you consider the defibrillator?"

The man narrows his discerning, brown eyes but Elsa remains unfazed throughout the stare down. _You're going to die, Gerald_ , she tries to convey.

"Give me a week to think about it."

"Okay," she concedes.

When he gets up to leave, he pulls out of his pocket a magnet that he hands her as a gift. "Keep it away from your wallet," he advises. "It'll erase your MetroCard."

Elsa follows him out and closes the door behind her. She watches him walk away slowly, tipping his hat at a passing nurse. A genuine clinic veteran, just like many of her patients. She then checks her watch and confirms that it's almost 1 PM: time to meet up with Sasha for what he calls a speed-run lunch.

Walking down the hallway towards the locker room, she can't keep herself any longer from checking the phone. She has been refraining all morning, even during the couple of dull minutes between each consultation. But just as the realistic side of her had expected, there is nothing awaiting on her screen except for a new text from Sasha letting her know that he is already waiting in the cafeteria.

She puts the phone away with a stoic expression despite feeling her disappointment spread inside her chest like ink does in water.

"Coward," she utters bitterly under her breath, unsure at this point whether she's referring to Anna or herself.

* * *

The cafeteria is a vibe mixture between a four-star hotel and an asylum—and a university if one likes noticing the first-year interns, which nobody ever does—. Hotel, because the hospital likes to invest good money in good looks and top-rate equipment and food that doesn't come straight out of a pre-packaged meal, but four-star because they still need enough money for investments that have nothing to do with healthcare. Asylum, because there are the underslept interns who walk around as though not totally right in the head, and the proper doctors with their professional looks and good management of time, who would probably play the part of the staff if one were to really dwell on this for as long as Elsa just did.

She likes to think that she's more and more on her way towards the second group. Sasha, however, looks like he's leaning heavily towards the first one today.

"What happened to you?"

"I skipped my facial routine this morning," he explains.

Elsa stares at him from the other side of the table. "Are you serious?"

"Yes?.. What? You don't have one?"

"No." She picks up her turkey wrap. "I mean yes, but not one that makes me look like that if I skip it."

Sasha points at her with his fork. "That's so rude. Not all of us are born with naturally glowing skin, Elsa."

She smirks. This is exactly what she needed to take her mind off things: nourishment and light banter.

"How was your morning?" she asks after another bite.

"It was one of those that made me question my decision of becoming a pediatric cardiologist. Actually, throw my entire existence on that pile." He leans across the table. "Why are kids so hard to deal with sometimes?"

"Try most of the time."

"Most of the time. I'll go with that today. But why?"

Elsa shrugs. "I don't know. What happened anyway?"

Sasha rests his palms on the table, reading himself for what will most likely be a long-winded speech. He's forgotten about his carbonara for the time being. So much for speed-run. Elsa can already picture him running back to the pediatric wing.

"I had little Charles today."

"Oh." Elsa doesn't need more to sympathize. Little Charles is not his name. His name is Luke. But Sasha calls him little Charles because he feels bad calling him Chucky in public.

"I could have sworn I had him on Wednesdays," he says, "but today just seems to be one of those days, you know? So anyway, he comes in with his mom _bawling_ already. I haven't even said 'hi', which is usually when he starts the waterworks, but today he was just feeling it I guess. Then he starts kicking when his mom tries to sit him down on the table and I just think 'Karen, you need to sedate this child.' But of course we can't sedate him because that's probably illegal, so I say 'Hey, you want a lollipop? Here's a lollipop.'" Sasha grabs hold of his fork for an emphasis Elsa can't quite decipher. "I gave him _grape_ , Elsa. But guess who doesn't like grape?"

"Him?"

" _Him._ So he throws the lollipop at me when he's already _licked_ it. It sticks to my goddamn coat! But I have to go all zen on him even though I didn't get my facial today and I'm just about ready to snatch a wig even if it's a child's."

"Please don't do that," Elsa mutters.

He calms down a little, stabbing his pasta with the fork. "I won't."

"So what happened next?"

"Well, I had to pretend like everything was fine of course. I mean, the poor child still has an AVS. So I did his regular check up while also making sure he didn't kick me in the gut."

"That's a wise decision."

"It cost me my pride."

Elsa snorts. "I'm sure you have plenty to spare."

Sasha rolls his eyes without denying the statement. _Speaking of pride,_ Elsa thinks, but she doesn't finish her thought nor does she open up her mouth to speak. She focuses on her wrap instead, mulling over what she should do about Anna's phone call.

"Speaking of pride..."

Elsa looks at him funny.

"What?"

She waves him off. "Nothing. Go on."

Sasha narrows his eyes. "Did you get your pride stepped on today too?"

"No," she laughs, "My morning was pretty dull." She reaches for her bottle of water. "Seriously, go on."

Albeit unconvinced for a moment, he speaks the next. "I ran into my ex the other day."

"Which one?"

"Chris."

"The tattoo guy?"

"No, that's Andrew. Chris is the graphic design guy."

"You need a list, I can't keep up."

Sasha isn't concerned by this. "I'll make a list for you when I get the chance." He takes a moment to take a bite out of his pasta. "Anyway, I ran into him at the Grumpy coffee place down the street. He asked me if I wanted to have lunch with him."

"Did you say yes?" she asks.

He looks aghast. "Are you kidding? It took me forever to get over him. I wouldn't touch that relationship again with a ten-foot pole."

"But he wasn't that bad, was he? He was just a workaholic." Now finished, she clumps the leftover yellow wrap into a ball and places it on the tray with as much finality as when she states, "You shouldn't close yourself off like that."

Sasha stares at her with incredulity until she rolls her eyes. "Yes, I know that's exactly what I'm doing. But this is... different."

"Hardly," he retorts. "The only difference is that I got closure and you didn't."

"I'm working on it," she mumbles.

"Really?"

"Well," she rubs her hands together, expelling nervous energy. "Anna called me last night—I mean it was more of a call-and-hang-up kind of situation—but I've been thinking about it all day and I think I should do something about it as well."

"Like call her back?"

"That, or... yes."

Sasha nods slowly. He looks like a chipmunk with that much pasta in his mouth, Elsa thinks. A contemplating chipmunk. It isn't until he's swallowed and wiped the commissures of his lips that he says, "I'll tell you what, you call her back, figure this thing out, and we can all go out this weekend."

"That escalated quickly."

Her friend looks at her as if all of this were self-evident. "Are you okay with that? Can you—is there enough room in your busy schedule for something that isn't tending the sick or yearning for your ex?"

"I lead a perfectly balanced life, thank you very much."

"So is that a yes?"

"Yes," she grumbles.

Sasha goes back to munching the rest of his pasta happily. Too happily, in fact. Elsa checks her watch and smirks at the predictability of it all. "You haven't checked the time, have you?"

"What? No, why—oh _shit_."

* * *

The week escapes the loose grip she had on it. One day it was Monday morning, the next one it was Saturday night; long enough time for Elsa to begrudgingly come to the realization that Sasha had been right when he implied she only had time for tending the sick and thinking about Anna. And that this needed to change. Which is why she agreed to the nightclub experience even if she had not, in fact, figured anything out.

She had not called Anna. She had not texted her. But neither had Anna done either of those things. It is something Elsa held onto with stubborn—albeit slowly wavering—pride. This is what she held onto after every day that ended the same. After she came home back from the hospital to an apartment that was quiet and lonely, to a dinner meal for one, to a cold bed, to a cellphone that did not ring again. _This will be the end of us_ , she thinks distantly, as if someone else were saying it; an advice meant to be ignored. But what would be the plan otherwise? _Call back._ Okay. And then what? _Meet up for lunch. Or dinner. Or the park. Who the fuck cares? Are you really going to let your pride get in the way of the best thing that ever happened to you? What kind of person does that make you?_ An idiot. Just like Anna, for not daring to call again.

Elsa sighs frustratingly. This is what she's become. Someone who has an argument with herself, in her own mind, while surrounded by strangers in the middle of a busy Q line train. She tugs uncomfortably at the hem of her mid-thigh, black dress and thinks that she should have taken a cab. She'd seen a group of girls wearing pumps, short dresses and trendy jackets entering the subway station and thought she could do the same. _You're missing the female support group they show in movies._ Well, yes. She has it. Except that they're already waiting at the club. Only college girls with high-school complexes gather at someone's apartment in order to get ready for a night out. Elsa is twenty-nine, for Christ's sake. She is a strong, independent woman... _Yeah, okay._

She should call Anna. She really should. Pride only gets in the way of love. Self-worth is essential. But pride? _Eh._ One should know when it's time to give in. When the positive stakes are high up in the sky and the possible negative outcomes are practically null.

Maybe Elsa should backtrack a little bit. Name the possible negative outcomes first before she goes off texting and calling and asking to meet. So first—big—negative outcome: Anna called by accident and she's already moved on. That one shoots a pang of sadness straight to her heart, but she will have to live with it and move on with her life if it were true. Second—less big—negative outcome: Anna called, hung up after noticing the time, then forgot to try again in the morning. _That makes absolutely no sense._ Right, Anna is not that forgetful.

_Unless..._

Elsa goes back to option number one. If she's already moved on then it means that her heart nor her mind are in it, so that could lead to option number two: the forgetting part—

_But wait!_

Elsa's face remains commuter-stoic except for her slightly widened eyes. She's hit a realization. An epiphany. Anna still asks about her. _How could you have forgotten?_ Anna asks Rapunzel about her during their cooking lessons once every other week. That's what her cousin told her and her cousin never lies (except when she's broken something in the kitchen and when she says she hasn't watched a movie yet because she doesn't want Elsa to get mad because they promised they'd watch it together), which means this is foolproof, guaranteed, one-hundred-per-cent verified information.

So scratch the entire list. Push away the whole negative outcome pile and make it fall and crash like a Jenga tower. There are NO negative outcomes, only positive, and Elsa must now calm down before she bursts into an uncontrollable fit of giggles and is deemed by at least half of these people as mentally unstable.

She conceals her giddiness by observing everyone else's solemnity. Is it a universal thing to be so serious when commuting? Isn't daydreaming supposed to be an uplifting thing? The brain really must be a wonderful organ if people can go through life conjuring up the best of someone's dreams while the face remains as expressionless as an 18th century portrait. She observes what some are reading. A lady reads a Chinese newspaper and next to her, a black man still in his worker uniform reads a book with no title on its cover. One of those books that remain mysterious until you're the one being immersed in it. Close by, a woman with a pixie haircut, red-framed sunglasses still on, and a large scarf draped over her shoulders stands grabbing the pole with one hand and holding a book with the other: _Harvard Psychedelic Club_. No idea what that could be about so Elsa decides to categorize it as mysterious as the other one.

The operator announces the upcoming stop on 42nd Street and Elsa begins to stand up. She tugs at the dress again, runs a hand through her hair. She's definitely calmed down by now, but her conclusion remains the same and her giddiness lingers like the perfume of someone long gone.

By the time she exits the station and steps onto the concrete sidewalk of New York's bustling Times Square, Elsa has finally made her decision.

* * *

"This whole place feels like one big acid trip," Rapunzel declares.

A hallway illuminated by a row of neon red lights stretches out before them. On the other end, a pit of darkness broken off by intermittent lights that shift and follow the beat of the blasting music.

"This feels ominous..." Elsa feels as if the three of them were about to meet their fate at the hands of a higher entity. From behind them, a group of girls let in by a promoter are laughing and talking animatedly. Sounds like they know their fate already and are looking forward to it. "What is it with hotels having built-in nightclubs anyway?"

"There's not enough space in the city," Sasha tells her, the last of his words being drowned out by the music as they enter the main space of the club.

The place is crowded by now, but the only two things Elsa manages to register amidst the overwhelming sensation of it is the music thrumming on her body and the dancers set up on platforms and under a spotlight. They move and thrust their hips, each of them lost in their own world, dancing their own version of the same beat.

"Holy shit, she looks like you!" Rapunzel is pointing at one of them, a blonde wearing chrome silver bottoms and a matching bikini top whose lose hair cascades down her shoulder as she dances in a way Elsa could never. "If you hadn't come today I would've sworn you'd ditched cardiology to become a go-go dancer."

"She doesn't look like me," Elsa mumbles.

"No, she does," Sasha exclaims. "Except that you could never pull those moves."

Elsa flips him off before heading towards the bar.

She doesn't quite know when the first drink begins and ends, and when the second, then the third, follow. Much less does she know when she began to have some real fun and not just nod-your-head-to-the-beat-of-the-music kind of fun. The energy both Sasha and her cousin exude is ridiculous and contagious in the best possible way. And the stamina these two have makes Elsa think that they should be up there on the platforms rather than here, on the second floor, dancing dangerously close to a VIP table.

They lose Sasha at some point after he offers to buy everyone in their close proximity another round—long enough that they begin to wonder whether he's found himself a date but not long enough to worry. Still, Elsa prefers to check and make sure it's the former, so she tells Rapunzel (who barely listens) that she'll be right back before she ventures out into the wild, unfamiliar and overall heterosexual ground where males congregate in order to impress females, with tight button-up shirts and a credit card they won't regret maxing out until the next morning. _This place is_ _a_ _lek!_ she thinks loudly _._ She must have gotten that word out of Animal Planet. When was the last time she watched that channel? When was the last time she watched TV at all?

They should have gone to a gay club. There are too many loose men grinding on unaware women. And the lights— _HOLY SHIT._ Elsa's never taken acid but this must be it all right. She makes a mental note to ask her cousin how she knows about the acid trip but she forgets about it the next moment. Her eyes land on the blonde go-go dancer as she stops on her way to the bar to take a good look. Elsa must admit it in the privacy of her own mind: that is one fine-looking lady. A tattooed dragon covers the side of her torso, from where the hem of her bottoms start all the way up to her bikini top. It moves languidly with her, luring and tantalizing. The girl runs a tempting hand down her toned stomach as she bends her knees and lowers herself on the floor of the platform. She doesn't miss a beat. She remains lost in the music, but for a brief moment in which she lifts her gaze and connects with Elsa's. Two pairs of blue eyes meet before Elsa quickly turns away.

"That was freaky," she tells no one.

She finds Sasha right away because he's like six-foot tall. He is talking very animatedly at some girl, so it's definitely nowhere near a date. Elsa has to push through a few hunks of men in order to reach him.

"Baby, you go out there and be the baddest bitch he's ever—"

"Sasha."

He turns around. "Hi!" He throws an arm over Elsa's shoulders, pulling her closer. He points at the smiling brunette. "This is Samantha. She's having boy problems I was helping her with." He turns to the girl in question. "Samantha, this is Elsa. She's my doctor—I mean she's my best friend who's a doctor."

Elsa waves awkwardly but notices that Samantha's eyes aren't quite as focused nor is she quite as sober as Sasha probably thinks. She leans as close as she can to his ear, "I'm not sure she's paying attention to what you're saying."

They decide that no, Samantha is not paying attention. So after wishing her good luck with her boy problems, Elsa making sure that she actually came with somebody, buying and paying for their drinks (three because they forget about the rounds Sasha promised), they head back to where Rapunzel is patiently waiting and dancing by herself.

"I'll be back," Sasha announces, handing Elsa his drink.

"You were literally gone just now."

"I forgot I had to pee," he states, and is gone.

Elsa doesn't know if that's code for 'Imma go look for a hook up' so she decides to forget about it. She lets herself be pulled by her cousin again, who's so far gone in the music that Elsa is beginning to question if getting her another drink was a good idea.

From where they stand on the second floor she also notices that the blonde go-go dancer she held some very strange eye contact with is being switched by a new girl: a brunette, body just as toned as her predecesor, and a bright red outfit that reveals everything except for, well... the important stuff. The blonde steps away from the platform, ignoring the catcalls she receives from the guys who were ogling her just seconds ago. Elsa follows her with her gaze until she loses her to the crowd. _She does kinda look like me,_ she muses.

Elsa goes on sipping her mojito, feeling as though she could dance the rest of the night away. She's thought very little of her musings back at the train. But Elsa realizes with a loose and scattered mind that she doesn't have to. She has made a decision, and tonight is for celebrating. There is nothing left to consider, nothing left to doubt on. She will take that leap of faith even if Anna won't dare. She will do it for the both of them; for the sake of what they once had and for the sake of what they could have again.

All of the sudden, Elsa remembers she has not told her cousin the news.

"Anna called me," she blurts out in a near yell.

Rapunzel's eyes widen. She stops dancing. "What?!"

She nods profusely. "In the middle of the night," she says, then reconsiders it. "But I think she called then quickly hung up 'cause the phone didn't ring."

"How are you so sure it didn't ring? What if she called an' waited an' waited an' you didn't hear it?"

"How many times have I missed your mid-night calls?"

"None."

"Exactly. I'm not the one who sleeps like a corpse."

Rapunzel rolls her eyes. She's having a hard time doing that while simultaneously trying to catch the cocktail straw with her tongue. Poor thing. "When did she call you?"

"Sunday."

She captures the straw and begins chewing on it. "This Sunday?"

"Yes?"

"Oh."

"What—why oh?"

She stalls by stirring her drink, then sipping, then stirring again. "And you said the middle of the night?"

"Yes, Rapunzel." Elsa grows exasperated. "What do you know that I don't?"

Somewhere in that drunken mind of hers Rapunzel has enough mental capacity to hesitate. "We went out after our cooking class on Sunday and we may've gotten shitfaced."

"So she drunk-called me."

"Probs. She was still pretty messed up when she got home but I don't know why 'cause she threw up in the bathroom before we left."

She grimaces. "Great."

"But hey!" She drops a hand on Elsa's shoulder. "What's that thing about kids and drunks? That they're super honest or something, right? So if Anna called you when she was drunk it means she wants to do it but she doesn't have the balls when she's sober."

Sasha shows up out of nowhere. His whole face is beaming but Elsa barely registers it with all the acid lights happening in the club.

"What did I miss?" he asks excitedly.

"Anna!" Rapunzel yells.

"Anna was here?!"

Elsa ignores this. She hands him his drink as she turns back to her cousin. "She could've texted the next day and she didn't."

"I literally just said she didn't have the balls."

"That's a pretty helpful conclusion, Rapunzel."

She looks comically indignant. "Don't patronize me. It's the truth. You two forget I'm y'all's insider way too often. But I'm just delivering info at this point. Do whatever you want with it."

" _Fine_."

"Fine!"

Looking for a more useful input, Elsa looks at Sasha. Unfortunately, he seems to be too busy staring down at the dancing crowd to be of any help.

"I'm going to call her tomorrow," she tells Rapunzel, excited just hearing herself say it out loud.

"About damn time," her cousin grumbles.

Elsa is about to give her another senseless piece of mind when she hears Sasha let out a gasp that he immediately tries to conceal.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." She notices him subtly move over, leaning on the rail as if trying to cover her line of sight.

"Lies," Elsa mumbles.

"It's nothing," he repeats, less convincingly this time.

She moves past him with an awkward push before she leans over. "What is it?" she asks again, but her voice is merely a mumble and she receives no answer. She watches those dancing amidst flickering lights, confused but too curious to look away. Maybe it was just a very hot guy, Elsa thinks. But just as she's about to step away, colored lasers give way to an intermission; a brief pause in the music that causes the light in the room to turn into an even white hue.

It is then that Elsa sees her.

A hand touches her arm but she swats it away. She has frozen in place, forgotten to breathe for a moment. She could recognize Anna anywhere; in a lonely bookstore or in a crowded nightclub. The image of her has ingrained itself in Elsa's mind, so much so that three years mean nothing. She spent day after day memorizing every little detail of her precious face, of the way she moved her hair to the side when it came loose, of the way she liked to dance even when she was too drunk to care. It once felt like a blessing, all this time the universe had gifted her in the shape of Anna's company.

Elsa cannot discern the face of the girl she is dancing with; it is burrowed far too deep into her neck. It makes her want to scream. She wants to yell at Anna to open her eyes, to tell whoever has her hands on her waist to get them off. But she cannot breathe, let alone speak, and the moment the girl moves her face in order to pull Anna in for a kiss, Elsa loses her leverage.

She steps back from the rail on wobbly legs, ignoring the calls of the people that accompany her. She needs air; she needs space; she needs to be as far away from this place as her feet will take her on these godforsaken heels.

This is not what Elsa had in mind. She was supposed to call tomorrow. They were supposed to meet, to talk everything out, to move forward. None of it was supposed to happen this way. But maybe Anna has moved on after all. Maybe that phone call was nothing but a mistake, and maybe Anna's questions about her were nothing more than pity check-ins. Elsa's heart shatters all over again. Yet, this time, it is no one's fault but her own.

Angry tears stream down her face as she weaves through an oblivious crowd, rushes down the stairs and treads through the red hallway, ignoring the questioning looks she receives from those who are just now entering the club. She can sense Sasha and Rapunzel somewhere close by but she does not care to check. Below the music she thinks she can hear a voice call her name. It is distant and familiar, and it echoes in her mind like a vague thought she ignores as well.

She doesn't stop until she's crossed the street, the warm breeze of late spring brushing past her dampened cheeks. She is drunk and angry, but most of all, she is done. Elsa may still love Anna with everything she's got. But pride is one thing and self-worth is another. And tonight, Elsa decides, she chooses self-worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us not jump to conclusions yet!!!!! Next chapter will be up tomorrow :)


	35. This is how you lose her, pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised :)

The lights are blinding; borderline disorienting.

Anna is not sure how long she has been standing there, bobbing her head to the upbeat of the music. She knows she is waiting for someone to come back from somewhere but, for the time being, it is all as indiscernible as the shape of bodies dancing in front of her. She searches for the straw with her tongue but it eludes her, forcing her to keep it in place with her thumb and middle finger while she sips, lest she ends up looking like an idiot sticking her tongue out for no apparent reason.

Coherent thoughts: they come and go. Anna can't get a grasp on any of them for long enough time to process. One moment she is thinking of how strange this dude looks wearing a cap inside a nightclub, the other she's trying to understand how the lights were set up so that they would follow the music ups and downs and whatever they're called. Which then leads her to wonder about who takes care of that in a club; how much they pay these people; and should she abandon writing in order to become a light person? A person of the light. An enlightened one.

Anna goes on bobbing her head, but she is smiling now. She would pay to be enlightened—like one of those silent retreats where you go and say nothing for like a month and end up screaming on your way out—, though that's okay. It's all good! It is FINE! She doesn't need that anymore. She's got everything figured out because she's had all week to think it through. She doesn't exactly recall the details of it right now, but she knows it has to do with calling Elsa without hanging up. Because she misses her, and because she is still very much not over her, which may be pathetic and embarrassing and maybe even a little humiliating if one thought hard enough on it. If one _cared_ , which Anna doesn't. Not anymore. She is tired of letting this be a 'that's life' thing.

But damn, this song is pretty bomb. She wishes she could dance, but she is still waiting for someone—Kim. Yes. Her coworker. And Sam. Where the shit are they? If they don't return in the next ten minutes she will venture onto the dancefloor herself. _One... two... three... four... five..._ She takes another large sip of her mojito and loses count. She may be drunk but she knows exactly what she's doing with these obnoxious, self-sabotaging sips: getting drunker.

Her eyes fall on the go-go dancers again; back on the blonde girl with the sexy, silver outfit and the alluring dragon tattoo. She tries not to stare; tries not to be that one creep that stands in the corner watching with glassy, unfocused eyes, but it is hard when she reminds her so much of Elsa. If she hadn't spent so much time memorizing the nuances of her body or the way Elsa liked to dance—slow and intimately when Anna placed her arms around her waist—, then perhaps imagining her up on that platform would have been an easy task. But Anna did not want to imagine, nor did she want to muse her strange little fantasies. They were irrelevant to the one and only thing she truly wanted.

Anna jumps when a hand falls heavily on her shoulder.

"What the fu—Samantha!"

The drunk brunette who sits next to Anna's workspace greets her with a borderline psychotic grin. Samantha—with her argyle sweaters and black oxfords; her fresh cucumber water and homemade coffee in a thermos that says _Shine Bright Like A Diamond!_ —looks drunker than Anna feels, and that's saying a lot because Anna feels like a goner by now. But you never know who your coworkers really are until you go out with them and watch them get shitfaced, so this has been a productive outing so far.

"Have a drink with me."

"I'm not finished wi—" the girl grabs her hand and drags her in the direction of the bar.

Once there, Anna feels like she should finish the drink she has in her hand so that she can accept the one Samantha is already ordering. It is a watered down mojito by now. Chips of ice clink against her teeth, a mint leaf falls on her tongue. She chews on it and grimaces. A moment later a new mojito is being placed in front of her and Samantha is handing over three twenties to the bartender.

"Wait, are you sure you don't want me to—"

Sam turns to her. "JB is here."

She glances around. "Who's JB?"

"My ex."

"Oh- _kay_." Anna stares at her. Or tries. She realizes that the last chug was a bad decision and that she really doesn't know the first thing about her coworkers. How did she agree to come so easily?

The beat goes on as she observes the brunette sip distractedly and shoot glances at a spot behind Anna. She feels awkward standing there, drinking from a free drink and not even paying back with conversation. So she says the only thing that sounds coherent at this point.

"You wanna dance?"

Brown eyes finally focus on her—for about two seconds. "I'm gonna wait here."

Anna can't suppress the roll of her eyes. "'Kay. Imma go then. Thanks for the drink."

Samantha doesn't acknowledge this, so she turns around without another word and heads for the dancefloor with woozy resolution. She half struts, half stumbles through the crowd as if moved by a current, until she is standing close enough to the platform on which the go-go girl dances that all she'd have to do in order to touch her was stretch out a hand. But she doesn't want to touch her. She wants to dance. And she does; alone, drunk, but with more freedom dictating the moves of her body than what she'd experienced in a long time.

She lets herself go, weaving her hand through her own hair, moving her hips to the rhythm of the music that pulsates and resonates against the dark walls of the nightclub. Purple and blue lights flash across her sight as she downs half of her drink and places the glass on the nearest surface she can find. Her last lucid thought is this: she's done drinking for the night.

Everything becomes a blur afterwards. Everything except for the pair of blue eyes her gaze keeps landing on. Deep and penetrating, they act as the anchor to her drifting consciousness. They remain on her even as Anna continues to dance by herself, to songs that hold no meaning, amidst a crowd that she ignores. If she could dance to forget, this would be it. If she could dance away the regret that clings to her skin like a stain that can't be washed, she would spend night after night in places like this. But she closes her eyes instead, imagining Elsa were here with her for one song after the other. Make it another magical night in London, another night of brief oblivion. Maybe then she'll get to imagine a pair of arms wrapped around her, tender and possessive at the same time, pulling her closer, asking her to give up control.

Maybe then she won't get to question what happens next.

Through heavy lids Anna catches a glimpse of silver fabric over smooth, pale skin; a loose strand of blonde hair; a smirking red mouth. She could keep on looking, but she doesn't. She can't. The influence of the alcohol is beginning to weigh on her.

She lets herself be carried away, allowing a pair of arms to pull at her body as she feels hot air against her neck and warm hands gripping at her waist. Something soft is beginning to trace the line of her jaw before it reaches her lips, and for a brief and sweet moment, all Anna can do is be swept up in a kiss. The lips are warm and soft, unhurried and filled with wanton as they kiss her again with more force this time. But when Anna reaches up to touch the face and thread her fingers through the hair, her eyes snap open as best as they can.

Anna pushes herself away from the girl, recognizing in her stupor that it is the same girl who had been dancing on the platform not too long ago. She takes a few steps back, trips on her heels. A pair of strong arms catch her before she can reach the floor.

"You okay there?" some man asks her.

She shakes her head when in reality she wants to shake his arms off. She shrugs, squirms awkwardly, but the man refuses to fully let go of her arm.

"Let me help you up at least," he tells her before he guides her away from the crowd and towards the exit. He prompts her to lean against a wall. "Are you with someone?"

Anna doesn't know if she nods or shakes her head.

"Um, okay," he says. "Wait here. I'm gonna get you some water."

He fixes his eyes on her and she does the same. She notices the beard, the dark skin, the brown, shiny eyes that reflect unfamiliar concern. She nods again and that is enough for him to appear reassured and step away.

Anna leans her head back, lets it roll to the side. The hallway is lit up by the same red, dazzling lights from earlier. People are walking through, more entering than leaving. But it is the leaving on whom she settles what's left of her focus. A shape moves amongst them: a waist enveloped in a tight, black dress; hips that sway with every step; platinum blond hair that cascades down the back. The shape walks away from her until it reaches the exit and the lights of the street cast a spotlight on her profile.

"Elsa," she breathes.

Anna pushes herself away from the wall. "Elsa!" She wobbles for a moment before she begins to push her way through the throngs of people flowing in from the street. "Elsa," she repeats, weaker this time. Her body is not responding to her commands, and despite her wishes, she has to press herself against the wall once more in order to clumsily follow the path out of the club.

She has her phone in her hand by the time she staggers out of the place. People are staring, judging, but she cannot bring herself to care about a single look thrown her way. She is too busy searching for someone she cannot find.

The phone feels foreign in her grip, the screen is too bright for her eyes, and her fingers are slippery as she searches for the only name her mind can conjure up right now that is not Elsa's. Because Elsa was here and now she's gone. Gone back to living the life where Anna no longer exists.

Time slips out of her grasp. She doesn't know how long she's been staring at the girls across the street, who sit on the edge of a storefront window, all made up. High heels on their feet and cigarettes between their fingers. Dark eyes and dark lipsticks.

"Hey there."

Anna turns her head around to find a guy approaching. She goes back to watching the girls. Part of her is begging them to look this way, to cross the street and to intervene, because Anna doesn't have the capacity to do this alone.

He inches close enough that she can smell his cologne. "Why so lonely?"

Anna ignores the question.

"Need company?"

She shakes her head.

A hand wraps itself around her arm and tightens when she tries to pull away. "Come on, I'll buy you a d—"

"She said no, dude, fuck off!"

The guy stumbles forward by the hard push Kristoff gives him. His eyes radiate a short-lived fury that is covered by a sense of pride. "Dick," he mutters under his breath before he walks away, sending a bitter glance in Anna's direction.

"Hey," Kristoff says to her, opening up his arms when she begins to lean into him.

"How'd you get'ere?"

"You texted me," he responds.

Anna tries to make herself smaller in his embrace. She doesn't remember texting him. She doesn't remember half of this night already except for one single, dreadful moment.

"I wanna go home, Kristoff," she mumbles into his shirt. "I think I fucked up."

* * *

_where are you?_

_1 oka pls come_

_1 oak?_

_ys_

_I'm on my way, don't leave_

"Fuuuck..."

Anna reads over this exchange for the umpteenth time today. Reliving her embarrassment is akin to rubbing salt in a wound, but she can't help it. She's apologized to Kristoff double that amount for having made him go out past midnight, for having thrown up at his apartment, and for having passed out on his couch while he slept on the floor next to her—all of which he had to recount because Anna couldn't remember anything past the kiss—. Even if Kristoff didn't mind, even if he insists he was playing Call of Duty when she'd texted him, even if he says he would have gone to the other side of the Bronx to pick her up if he had to.

"Just don't do that again," he'd told her over scrambled eggs, greasy hash browns and strong coffee. "Being drunk and alone is mad scary."

"I just don't know what happened," she'd mumbled.

"You got drunk is all. People do that all the time. Like, literally. I'm sure someone's getting drunk right as we speak."

"But I've never been that drunk." She'd covered her face, careful not to exacerbate the pain still hammering at her head. "And I got drunk last weekend too. What the hell is happening to me?"

"Dude, relax. Nothing's happening to you. You went out two weekends in a row and you got drunk because that's what people do when they go to bars and clubs and shit."

She'd stared at him from across the kitchen bar. "I kissed some random girl."

"Hell yeah, you did." He'd raised his hand for a high-five that she wouldn't reciprocate. He lowered it, went back to his eggs. "Okay, so what? It was just one kiss. If you're worried about Elsa finding out she probably never will unless you tell her."

"But that's it!" she'd exclaimed and immediately regretted it. "I want to call her and be done with all of this, but now I feel like that's gonna be looming over my head."

"Blame it on the alcohol?" he'd suggested lamely.

Anna shook her head. "I feel like I betrayed her, Kristoff."

She exits the conversation on her phone with a long exhale. What's done is done. She can't go back in time, and even if she could, she wouldn't go back to Saturday night. She would go back to three years ago and have a good talk with her younger-self before she messed things up.

Anna rolls onto her side on the bed. Mondays were gross, but today had been even grosser because she had to listen to Kim's reasons about why she'd disappeared with some dude and Samantha go on and on about her ex while she sipped off her stupid, cheerful coffee mug that didn't even have coffee; it had _tea._ But that is all over now. She spent Sunday nursing her hangover and today she'd get to spend her evening maybe—hopefully—talking with Elsa on the phone. For the first time. In three years.

A nervous shudder shoots down her spine before she reaches for her pillow for the sake of comfort. What happened at the nightclub is still very much at the forefront of her mind, but she tells herself that they will cross that bridge when they get to it. First thing she needs to do is dial, second thing she needs to do is say hi. Everything after that is up in the air and Anna would rather not overthink it anymore.

She presses the button before placing the phone against her ear. Every dial tone provokes a tighter grip around her heart, every pause in between a further drop of her stomach.

The call reaches voicemail. Elsa's polite, melodious voice comes on and Anna has to hang up before the tone goes beep because— _FUCK!_ —she was expecting to hear her voice but not like _that_.

Deceivingly calm now, she tries again. It rings, and rings, and rings. Then voicemail. Anna double-checks the time. If Elsa is working a regular clinic shift, she should be done by now. But maybe she isn't. Maybe she's working a night shift. And if she is, maybe Anna should try one last time, leave a message in the voicemail and hope that Elsa will get back to her. _Better than nothing_.

This time, however, it rings twice before it is sent to voicemail. Dread sinks into the pit of her stomach. "Maybe she's busy," she says out loud. It brings little comfort.

Anna doesn't try again. She fiddles with her phone as she mulls over what she should do next. She should send her a message, but for that she would require a couple of hours to think over her words, and she should probably sit up too because she's always had a hard time thinking when lying down—

The phone rings in her hand and her heart leaps into her throat, but as soon as she checks the caller ID she feels as though she could cry from disappointment.

Regardless, she answers the call.

"Hi, Lauren," she greets, guilty of sounding less enthusiastic than usual.

"Hi, Anna," the woman says, "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, no. Sorry." Anna sits up. "How's—uh, how are you?"

"I'm doing fine," Lauren responds easily. "How's that new job treating you?"

"Good, all good!" She rolls her eyes at herself. Must she always act like an overly excited puppy when she's high-strung? "It's been going very well," she says with a less pitchy voice.

"That's good to hear. Are you still writing?"

"I'm working off small ideas right now. Nothing big just yet."

"It takes time," Lauren affirms, "Just don't get discouraged by that."

She smiles at last. "I won't."

"So listen, a friend of mine is hosting a dinner party for new and upcoming writers this weekend. If you're interested I can put a word in for you as well."

Anna stares at her pillow as she processes this. The word 'party' is giving her flashbacks right now and the idea of three outings, three weekends in a row is making her eye twitch already. However, this is too good an opportunity to miss. She can stick to water and not drink alcohol for the rest of the year like she'd planned. 

Refraining from asking if she will be there too, Anna says, "I would love that."

"Perfect," Lauren replies with enthusiasm. "He lives in Meatpacking. I'll send you the info. You don't have to bring anything you've worked on but be ready to discuss it if someone asks."

Anna can't help the grin that appears on her face. For a second there, she could almost picture Lauren Hoffman as her agent. A wild concept if there ever was one.

"Will do, madam."

The woman chuckles. "Meet me there at eight."

As soon as she hangs up, and driven by the sudden rush of excitement, Anna goes to sit at her desk. She spins a few times in her chair (funny how this action would have made her want to kill herself just yesterday) before she pulls up the notes app on her phone. She spends the next hour writing and erasing, rethinking her words, considering the impact of each one of them. She wants this message to come out as perfect as it can be, to convey every single one of her emotions, to let Elsa know that she still loves and cares about her just as much as the day it all ended without being too straightforward that she'll come off as desperate. This will be her first one, after all.

The first message.

In three years.

* * *

Anna crosses and uncrosses her legs. She checks that the straps of her block heels are secured for the second time. She looks at her phone for the fourth: no new messages yet again. She sighs, feeling a pang of sorrow wash her anew. There are no more excuses she can come up with. No more reasons that could explain why Elsa hasn't reached out to her except for one, but the sight of a car slowly parking by the curb, its back door opening and a black heel stepping onto the sidewalk keep her from entertaining the notion any further. Anna knows it is time to let it go for the night.

Lauren steps out of the car wearing a grey pantsuit, her unbuttoned jacket revealing a black blouse with enough cleavage to showcase a few delicate golden necklaces. She walks towards Anna with a smile that grows the closer she gets.

"I will never get used to New York's traffic," is the first thing she says before greeting Anna with an air kiss on each cheek. "It's so claustrophobic," is the second thing she says.

"Try boarding on Penn Station during rush hour."

The woman throws her head back in a laugh. "I'll have you know I did it once," she retorts. "It was _awful._ "

Lauren's friend's apartment is a penthouse. But given how predictable this was, Anna doesn't bat an eye at the high ceilings, nor the window walls with views of southern Manhattan, nor the extra large corner sofa that is already being occupied by a few people.

Anna meets Marco, the friend. A man with no telltale signs of aging and a Spanish face. Green-golden eyes. Straight black hair, long enough to push behind his ears. He smiles through a deep tan and a row of perfect, white teeth appears. He is a writer himself, he says, but he enjoys socializing too much to give himself the time anymore. Lauren stays by her side the whole time, prompting the conversation. It all reminds Anna of the times Hans would invite her to lunches, to gathering and to events. But this felt different somehow. Lauren made her feel like a friend and an equal, whereas Hans—naturally and unsurprisingly—never failed to make her feel less than.

The dinner is sumptuous, yet Marco gives everything a casual and hospitable touch. With the help of a few, he sets the table himself and pours the wine for those who want wine, himself.

They sit between a girl who appears to be around Anna's age, and a man who's already proudly claimed that he is married, that he is a history professor who's venturing into writing fiction, and that he is working on his first book. It is the latter which prompts Lauren to ask him about his work while Anna thinks back to the advice she gave her earlier this week. She listens attentively to see if he's readied himself for this.

"We start the book with a middle-aged gay man walking through the streets of Chicago," he says, "He's, you know, thinking about his sorrows and whatnot."

Lauren stirs her martini. "Is it a middle-aged white man?"

"Yes."

Anna sees the corners of her lips twitch. "So a white middle-aged man dealing with his white middle-aged sorrows."

He clears his throat. "Correct."

"I'm sorry to tell you, Jack, but it's a little hard to feel sorry for a guy like that."

"Even gay?"

"Even gay."

He clears his throat again, arranges the cloth on his lap, washes down (his pride probably) with a sip of red wine. Lauren sends an amused glance Anna's way, as if they were sharing a joke only they were privy to.

"What made you choose a gay man anyway?" Lauren then asks him.

Mildly deflated, he replies with sincerity. "I thought it would appeal to the audience."

She considers this. "Okay. Here's a more important question: Do you identify with him in any way?"

"I—it's—no. I mean... yeah. I'm sure there'll be some things I'll be able to identify with as I go."

Having forgotten about the salmon on her plate for the time being, Anna drinks off her sparkling water and watches the conversation unfold as if she were witnessing a tennis match.

Coming from Lauren's side of the court: a shake of the head. "How do you expect anyone else to identify with your character if you're having trouble with it yourself?"

From the professor's side: an inquiring look. "May I ask, how is that important to storytelling?" 

"I'm an agent, not a writer. But I'll tell you this from a reader's perspective who knows one or two things about the creative process. If you can't identify with your character, it will fall flat. Plain and simple. You're giving us a cardboard replica of a real life person simply because you don't know how that person truly _functions._ It's a little bit like acting. Do you know what makes a good actor, good, Jack?"

"No idea," he laughs. "You're asking a man who's never attended a Broadway show in his life."

Lauren hums. She gives herself the time to take a sip of martini before saying, "A good actor studies their character inside and out. So not only do they find ways to identify themselves with them, but they also ask themselves ' _Why_ does my character do the things they do?' _Why_ is your middle-aged man walking through the streets in Chicago and not driving? Why is he thinking about his sorrows instead of what he should be buying at the grocery store once he gets there? Give everything a meaning."

Anna wishes she had brought a notepad to jot all of this down. Meanwhile the professor is looking as if he'd just found the answer to all of his problems.

"I'll revise it," he states. "Perhaps choosing a gay man shouldn't have been my first option."

Lauren gives him a smile. "Perhaps not."

Anna's about to go back to her salmon when he speaks out again. "Say, if I were to finish this book," he tells Lauren, "Would you consider taking a look at it? For the sake of representational purposes?"

"You mean to see if I could become your agent?"

"You said it, not I," he jokes. Anna cringes internally.

"I'll tell you what, revise that book, finish it, and then you may contact the office."

Anna is half expecting her to pull out a card or provide some phone number that he can call later on, but none of those things happen, and while the professor appears satisfied with her answer, Anna worked on the inside long enough to know that Lauren has no real interest in representing him. So she'll choose to appease him instead, have him approach the office in case he _does_ end up writing something good without having to deal with him personally.

When dinner is over, guests begin to stand up. Some go back to the living room area where two large Kandinsky paintings decorate the wall. Some others move to the terrace where Marco is starting the fire pit.

Summer days are upon them. It is felt in the air that barely tickles Anna's skin as she and Lauren approach the edge of the terrace. She's nursing another glass of sparkling water as she observes the view of the Freedom Tower and its surrounding buildings, their windows beaming with light as if they were competing against the stars.

"Thank you for inviting me," she suddenly says.

Lauren waves her off. "Don't mention it. It's barely a favor."

"Will you be accepting the professor's submission once he's done with his book?"

The movement of her head doesn't amount to a proper shake. "You know how these things go."

"So that's a 'Maybe not.'"

She provides another amused glance her way. "You're my confidante for the night." 

Anna chuckles and nods. This feels nice; almost refreshing after the week she's spent being on edge about receiving a response that didn't come. She likes to consider Lauren as someone who's no longer just her ex-boss's boss or an acquaintance or that one lady who wrote a very generous recommendation letter for her, but someone whom Anna may look up to and be able to call a friend. 

Yet, if someone had told her at the beginning of college that she would one day befriend someone fourteen years older than her, she would have snorted fountain soda out of her nose.

"You know, I never asked," Lauren says. "Why did you really decide to leave the agency?"

"I was looking for better opportunities," she answers.

The woman frowns, unconvinced. "From my own experience, you don't quit without a job offer in your pocket if looking for better opportunities is what you were doing."

Anna nibbles at her lip.

"Did something happen with Hans?"

"Oh no," she rushes out, "Definitely not... really. I just had a lot going on at the time and I feel like I lost myself in the job in ways I shouldn't have." For the sake of diplomacy, Anna decides to leave out the part where she thought Hans was a condescending prick for about eighty percent of the time.

"And yet you still did a really good job," Lauren comments, "I don't know how often Hans recognized your efficiency but it was a shame seeing you go. I almost tried to keep you from quitting. I wanted you to myself."

Anna feels herself blush. "Why didn't you?"

"Stop you?" Lauren asks with a low, short laugh. "Because like I said, I see pieces of myself in you. You're not meant to be an agent's assistant and frankly, I can't imagine you as an agent either."

"Hey!" she laughs.

"It's a compliment, darling. Take it."

Anna looks down at her shoes in an attempt to conceal her grin. "You know," she says, remembering another thing she wanted to mention. "Hans always insisted on networking. I think I got carried away by some of those things too, but looking back now, it feels as if I was looking the wrong way the whole time."

Lauren rests an elbow on the wall of the terrace in order to fully face her. "Because you're a writer, not an agent. Writers don't have to bother with parties and socializing. Writing is a one man's job and the only one that truly matters. Everything else, you leave to us."

"But what if the writer doesn't have an agent?"

The woman's gaze fixes itself on her and Anna can tell she's understood the true meaning behind her generalization. She watches her closely for a moment before she finally speaks. 

"Write me a book, Anna. You forget about how these things go, and you come to me when you're done."

Anna gulps. She feels like jumping out of the terrace at the prospect of having someone like Lauren represent her. But she keeps her cool and the only thing that leaves her mouth is a tiny but determined, "Okay."

"And speaking of networking being my job," Lauren says, moving away already. "I have to get back in there. But feel free to stay a bit longer if you want, it isn't every day you get a view like this."

"Doesn't make ya miss LA?" Anna asks.

She scoffs playfully. "Look around you," she tells her, extending a hand towards the view. "Los Angeles doesn't hold a candle to this city." 

She is gone after this while Anna turns her gaze away from the loft. Excitement courses through her veins as it is mixed with something else. A wish derived from longing; a wish that she could call Elsa right now and tell her about what's just happened.

Anna wants to show her that she is working towards becoming a better version of herself, that she could be on her way to becoming someone she is proud of, too. But how could Anna show her any of this when Elsa has decided not to respond? Has she done it too late? Has Elsa decided it was time to move on? Should she give up then if that is the case? 

She asks these questions but there is no response. The breeze plays with the tresses of her hair, the city continues to hum with life below her. And silence meets her.

_One last chance,_ she thinks. _Just give me one last chance._

But who is she asking? 

And will the answer hurt?

* * *

"Okay, what if... I write her a letter?"

Theo stares at her from where she sits on the bed. "And how are you plannin' on sending that, honey? USPS?"

"Yah. It's like fifty cents."

"To which address?"

"I don't have it yet," Anna says, kicking her feet up on Theo's desk before immediately bringing them down. She keeps forgetting this isn't her room. "I'll figure it out though, I just have to ask Rapunzel."

"What makes ya think she'll give it to you?"

"I mean why wouldn't she? I know she's been getting mad at me lately every time I bring Elsa up but it's not like she doesn't want me to see her." Although now that she thinks about it, it's been three weeks since their last cooking class and Rapunzel still hasn't responded to the text she sent her two days ago. "What are my other options? Just in case."

Theo pats in contemplation the comforter that covers her from the waist down. It is the color of cream, just like the walls around them. Anna had only been up to her room twice before but had never had to stay inside for too long until today. Because Theo had been feeling nauseous this morning, a nurse had said, and would Anna mind taking it easy by visiting her in her room? Of course not, Anna had said before she ran up the stairs skipping steps.

"My brother Jimmy used to carry a bag of quarters around," Theo muses out loud. "He'd walk half a mile three times a week just so he could use the payphone to call his sweetheart. Boy was smitten like hell. Too bad she was a married lady."

"Oh _no,_ " Anna groans. "That never leads to fun times."

"Oh, they're fun times all right. What ain't fun is the ending."

Anna slouches in the chair; melts, almost, to the floor. She has a pen in one hand and a notepad in the other, both of which have been useless so far. She's done no writing and no planning. She has no idea what to do to get Elsa back.

"Theo, I have to tell you something," she mumbles from where she rests her head between her knees.

"What's that, sugar?"

She straightens up. "I kissed someone."

The elder's expression remains the same except for her raised eyebrows. "And how'd that go?"

"It went horribly. I didn't want to kiss her but she was there and she looked like Elsa and I was really, _really_ drunk. I can't even remember how I got home. Actually it wasn't my home, it was Kristoff's, but I can't remember how he picked me up or how we got to his place. Oh and I threw up _._ Twice apparently."

Theo says nothing. The only thing giving her away is the smile she's trying to suppress.

"This is bad," Anna feels the need to remind her.

"Why? 'Cause you kissed somebody else that wasn't Elsa?"

"Yes. That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Remind me, how many years has it been?"

Anna looks down at her lap. "Three," she mutters.

Theo laughs lowly, her shoulders shaking and a hand on her belly. "There's a lot far worse than kissin' somebody when the two of you haven't even been together for that long."

"But I still feel really guilty about it."

"Oh, honey. Come here." Anna places her useless tools on the desk and moves closer to the bed, chair and all. She allows Theo to grab her hand but squeezes before the elder has to. It is strange how much comfort can be brought by a single touch. "This will only be as big as the two of you choose to make it."

"That'll be up to her," she says.

"Are you plannin' on telling her then?"

She nods. "I know it happened while we're technically not together but I don't think I can hide the truth from her. I couldn't even hide it when I ate the chocolate she kept in her secret stash."

"You little thief," Theo calls her as she pats her cheek affectionately.

"I can't be held accountable when there's chocolate around," she retorts. "But anyway, I need to get her to talk to me first if any of this is going to happen."

"What 'bout them yellow pages?"

Anna scrunches up her nose. "Is that still a thing?"

Theo sighs. "What's that thing y'all use nowadays? The blue thingy on y'all's phones."

"Facebook?"

"Yeah, that one. Why don't you use that to contact her?"

"I mean..." she rubs her palm on her jean-clad thigh. "If she didn't respond to the text I sent her I doubt she'll want to respond to a Facebook message. And she's horrible at it anyway. She has like two profile pictures and the last thing she posted is from last December." Anna would know because she checks a healthy amount of times a week.

"So that's a no."

Anna settles for shaking her head. She is beginning to realize just how hard this is when out of Elsa's most basic information—her phone number, her address and where she works—only one is available to her right now. She is beginning to realize, too, that Rapunzel may be avoiding her, and that the alternative where Anna only had to ask for these things during their next cooking class is starting to wane considerably. So what's left? She taps with her fingers the edge of the bed; she taps, gently, the back of Theo's hand. _Think. How else can you find her?_

Suddenly, it hits her.

"Here!"

"Come again?"

"I can find her here!" She throws her hands up in the air. "I can show up when she does, you just gotta tell me the next time she visits and I'll. Be. Here."

Theo looks unconvinced. "You could do that, I guess."

"I'll buy a dozen roses," she plots, "And when Elsa comes in she'll say something like, 'Theo, who brought you these flowers?' and that'll be my queue to crawl out from under the bed."

"Oh no, don't do _that_."

"Why not?"

"Is that really how you want her to find you after all this time? Crawlin' out from under a bed?"

"Okay, maybe not the bed. I can be hiding behind the door."

Theo crosses her hands over her lap. "I'm not sure this is a good idea..."

Anna deflates again. She rests her crossed arms over the bed and nestles her head in them with a tired, exasperated groan. It didn't sound like a very good idea in her mind either, but she is beginning to run out of them and this realization is causing tears to prick her eyes. She doesn't want to think she is too late. She doesn't want to think she's lost Elsa for good.

"I want to fix this, Theo..."

"I know, sugar." A hand touches the back of her head. "But there's gotta be a reason why she hasn't responded to that text you sent her," Theo says gently.

She looks up. "There is, isn't there?" her voice is weary, resigned.

Theo nods and gives her a loving smile. "Why don't I talk to her? Just to see how she's feeling 'bout all this." When Anna doesn't respond right away Theo reaches for her hand and nurses it in both of her own. "I don't wanna see you gettin' hurt, honey."

"I shouldn't have let so many years pass..."

"Sometimes life just gets ahead of ya," Theo says. Her voice trails off at the last words as she rests her head back against the pillow they've propped for support. She closes her eyes for a moment, drawing concern out of Anna in an instant.

"Are you okay?" she asks, "Are you getting nauseous again?"

The elder waves her off. "I'm okay. Just a bit woozy."

"It was my talking, wasn't it? Somebody said that once—I can't remember who, though."

Theo's shoulders shake with weak laughter. "Oh, please," she says, "You two are the only entertainment I get nowadays. When you get back together I'll have to look elsewhere."

"I see now," she responds with feigned indignation. "We are nothing more than two clowns in your circus."

Theo cackles but it is short-lived: Anna's concern grows. "Maybe we should go see a doctor..."

"Hell no. I'm too old for doctors."

"I don't think anyone's ever too old for doctors, Theo."

She shakes her head with stubborn determination, the same way a kid would. "If you reach my age, you'll know what I mean."

Anna bites her lip. "Can you at least mention this to Elsa? She's a doctor now, you know?"

Theo draws air silently, deeply. Her expression is tired and shut-off, all except for the faint smile on her lips. "My baby girl is a doctor."

She reaches across the bed for her hand again. That she is, Anna thinks of saying. And she's never stopped being proud of her. Not once this whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it may not look like it but I PROMISE it's a (slow) way up from now on, we're reaching the last stretch of this journey. Also, next time I update will probably be the same way as this time - but don't get too used to it heheheh
> 
> ps. random disclaimer - 1 oak is not near Times Sq, it's in Chelsea, but I first chose the train station and then I chose the nightclub and that is called BeInG SmArT


	36. Life according to Theodora Jackson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi... not sure how I got this out in a week but here it is. Chapter 37 will be up tomorrow, as promised. After this I'll go back to publishing one at a time but I'll do my best to not keep you guys waiting :) As always, your comments and thoughts mean everything to me. Thank you.

_Hi... I know it's been a long time since we last saw or talked to each other, and I also know that part of you is probably wondering why on earth I'm texting you right now. You're also probably wondering if that call I made was a mistake but I think, deep down, it wasn't. I think I meant to call you no matter how drunk I may have been (did you guess I was drunk? - you probably did by now, you were always smarter than me at figuring things out). And I'm sorry by the way, for having drunk-called you in the first place. You deserve better than that. Which is why I want to do this right if you'll let me, and if there's a part of you that still wants this._

_For so long I've thought that every day that went by without reaching out to you was part of the process, something we signed up for when we decided to take that break. But I've decided that I don't want this to be a 'life happens' kind of thing anymore. I miss you in my life, Elsa. More than I've ever missed anyone else. I understand that going back to what we had won't just happen. But there's no pressure and no rush at all. You're worth fighting for. You always have been. I was just too dumb and too caught up in my own problems to realize it before it was too late._

_What I'm trying to say is... I want to get to know you again. So if you want this too, just let me know. Shoot me a text, call me, give me a smoke signal - you know I've always liked old-school stuff. And if you don't, then I'll understand that as well. I just want you to be happy. That has never changed and it never, ever will._

_Anyway, I hope you've been well, doc..._

_ps. I'm sorry for the blocks of text, I still suck at keeping things short :(_

"Hey."

Elsa looks up from her phone.

"We're here," Eugene tells her.

She nods without saying anything, puts the phone away, and stands up to get off the train.

They exit on 47th, step right into the heart of New York's Diamond District where street-level edifices are festooned with sparkling earrings, flashy accessories and elegant rings. Elsa has come as Eugene's chaperone, his confidante and aide; the person who will have to ask him to calm down when things start to get too overwhelming because he's looked at twenty engagement rings and none of them seem to be the right fit.

"... and I just keep going in my head," he says, "should it be gold, rose gold, white gold or silver? And what's the difference between white gold and silver? Is white gold even a real thing or is it a rip-off? And why is it so hard to choose a ring when it's just a _ring_?"

"It's an engagement ring," Elsa corrects him distractedly.

Eugene groans, covering his face in exasperation. "It has to be special," he says, perhaps reminding himself more so than for the sake of agreeing with her. They pass a few shops along the way, stopping by their storefront windows to take a look at the rings displayed. Elsa would be lying if she said she could tell the difference between cuts, or whether what they were looking at were real diamonds or zircon. All she had a grasp on was her cousin's taste, but even that she wouldn't bet her life on.

"Do you know which style you're looking for?" Elsa asks him, eyeing a rather flashy ring with a large diamond on its center and a handful of small, blue stones on both sides of it.

"Something pretty," he responds, rather unhelpful. "And nothing too ostentatious," which is somewhat helpful.

"Those things can be hardly categorized as style," she points out, stepping away from the window.

Eugene groans again. "What is _style_?"

Elsa pats him on the arm. This poor guy. They haven't even started looking properly and he's already losing it. She suggests they try a store called _Forever Diamond_ simply because it's the next one on their path. Might as well start somewhere, she thinks. This could very well be a long day of searching for the right ring.

The store muffles the bustling sounds of the street as soon as the door shuts behind them. They step farther into the air-conditioned atmosphere and wave—like teenagers entering an adult shop for the first time—when a woman greets them with a smile that means business. She tells them her name is Mindy and that she is here for any questions they may have.

"Anything in particular you're looking for?" the lady asks them, unable to wait around in silence.

"A ring," Eugene answers.

"An engagement ring," Elsa corrects.

"Oh," the woman's smile grows—didn't seem possible until then. "You know," she tells Eugene, "Usually the gentlemen will shop for a ring without their soon-to-be-fiancée. To keep it a surprise." She winks at the last part, and Elsa makes a face.

"She's just helping me with it," Eugene says, patting Elsa's shoulder. She nods in agreement all the while wondering what it would be like to pretend to be straight for the day. Probably not much would be different. She would still be looking at rings with her cousin's boyfriend. Although perhaps she wouldn't be thinking over and over again about the text message that's been awaiting in her phone for nearly a week, almost as if it were burning a hole through the fabric of her jeans.

"I'm sorry," the woman says, placing a hand on her heart. The universal gesture meant for genuine apologies. But does she mean it? Who knows. The smile hasn't quite left. "Well, what sort of engagement ring do you have in mind? We manage every kind of cut: the princess, the emerald, the oval, the marquise..."

Eugene looks constipated.

"Are you okay?" Elsa asks him.

He nods dumbly, then asks the woman: "Can you show me the cuts you have? One of each?"

She fails to conceal the bewilderment caused by his request. Elsa can almost feel her struggle to keep a straight face when she says, "That would be ten rings, yes?"

"Sure."

Each safely tucked inside a small, velvety cushion, Mindy places ten rings on the glass counter. She names each one of the cuts, pointing at the rings with a perfectly manicured finger as she goes.

"We should discard the ostentatious ones first," Eugene mumbles in Elsa's direction. She isn't sure what his process is. He seems to be all over the place, to be honest. But she decides to go along with it for now.

"The emerald," she says, pointing the same way the woman just did. "The oval, the cushion and the pear."

"Okay." He huffs out a breath. He appears slightly calmer now, more resolute, finally on his way to know what he's doing. "Can we take a look at your best princess cuts? And maybe some small round ones, too? Preferably in silver or in rose gold. Please." Look at him go.

"So we're going for silver instead of white gold, huh?" she asks him once Mindy has stepped away, seemingly happier now that she knows she has a real task at hand.

Eugene shushes her. "I still don't know if white gold is a rip-off or not."

Half an hour later, they step out of the store empty handed. It was almost to be expected, Elsa told him. Imagine the sheer luck if they had found the right ring on their first try. Of course, of course, Eugene had said. He didn't appear discouraged. Not really. Now that the initial nervousness founded in his lack of expertise had waned he held an air of quiet enthusiasm about him. He wanted this ring to be perfect. His resolution was almost palpable.

They visit one more store. Then another, and another. A couple of hours pass. They become acquainted with a hefty Russian old man who handles jewelry with utmost gentleness, his stocky fingers holding up each ring as if it were the size of an insect. They meet an Indian man, whose inquiring brown eyes narrow when inspecting every diamond he places before them. "All top quality," he says, his thick, accentuated t's falling back in his mouth. Every diamond atop every ring holds its own beauty. But every diamond is unique, too. Or so the Jewish man says.

"But how do I know it's the one?" Eugene asks him, genuinely interested—mildly desperate.

The man shrugs. "When you know, you know."

Elsa refrains from saying anything to this. It sounds as helpful as 'something pretty.' She steps away from the counter to take a look at other rings herself. The variety is overwhelming; the amount, staggering. How does one keep track? How does one discern one diamond from the other with just a simple look? She surveys a few that lean towards the ostentatious side, trailing her fingers across the edge of the counter. Elsa doesn't remember the last time she ever considered marriage, but she does remember all those little moments she entertained the idea of it, vaguely in passing, more often than not in Anna's arms. It had all felt so fresh and young, though, so brisk when it stood at the threshold of her rational mind. So exhilaratingly new that Elsa had no way of fully grasping it.

And then things had changed.

"Elsa," Eugene whispers loudly from across the store. He waves at her to come over.

He is holding a ring in his palm. A delicate, rose gold ring with a classic round cut diamond on top and a row of smaller encrusted pieces interwoven on both sides of it. "What do you think?" Eugene asks in a small voice weighed down by his own excitement.

"I think it's perfect."

Eugene's eyes connect with hers and for a moment she thinks he's going to cry.

"When you know, you know," the Jewish man says again, more ominously this time.

Buying the ring feels like its own little ritual, amidst verifying the diamond's certificate and choosing a ring box. Eugene's hand trembles as he provides his debit card, as he signs the receipt, as he holds the box with the ring already inside. The man gives out a good, hearty laugh before he extends his hand towards Eugene's, shakes it firmly and says, " _Mazal u'Bracha._ " Good fortune and a blessing.

They step out into the street and begin heading towards Sixth Avenue with no real destination in mind. It is a gentle afternoon, unconcerned with the comings and goings of people who cross mid-street, taxis that honk, steam that rises up from the tunneled ground. Of bikers who weave through traffic, murmured afternoon prayers coming from the lips of Muslim food vendors, the fluttering wings of pigeons.

It is, quite simply, another afternoon in the city. 

"So now that you have the ring," Elsa says, "How are you planning on proposing?"

"I have a couple of options. But I'll need your help with that as well."

She sighs dramatically. "I guess," she drags out, making him chuckle. He keeps patting every other time at the jewelry box sitting inside the pocket of his slacks. Something which makes Elsa smile, as if she were borrowing a little bit of his happiness.

"So do you know who you're going to take as your plus one?" Eugene asks, not as slyly as he thinks.

"It's too early to decide. You haven't even proposed."

He lifts his shoulders all the way up to his ears, then drops them. "Have you tried any dating apps?"

"What?"

"A dating app, have you tried it?"

She bites the inside of her cheek at the same time that she glances at the numbered street. They're nearing 50th and Elsa almost stumbles at the sight of Radio City Music Hall. The last time she was here was for Anna's college graduation. Part of her wants to laugh at the building irony of it all.

"Do I look like a dating app kind of person?" she replies.

"Eh. Not really. But there's nothing a good hook up can't fix."

Elsa eyes him with a warning look. "Don't make me regret giving you my blessing."

Eugene laughs. They cross the street, a taxi honks at them for no reason. Radio City looms over her head for a brief pause. Elsa steps into a memory, dwells in its lingering sweetness, and then steps out. The Hall is left behind, where the rest of her past belongs.

"Look, I know Anna messed up a bit," he says. "But there's nothing some good old communication can't fix. Does that sound better?"

She smiles despite herself as she allows the sounds of the street to fill in the silence that's trailed after his words. It's not about the kiss, she thinks of saying, but she doesn't want to delve into it in the middle of a hustling New York avenue. It is not about the kiss, it is about something much more conflicting, much less to do with Anna's actions than with Elsa's inactions.

Something bumps against her shoulder. It is Eugene's arm. "Don't let that get to you again."

_I won't_ , she thinks, but again says nothing. She wonders if they're wandering or heading somewhere, but what she asks instead is: "Have you seen her lately?"

"I haven't," he answers. "Work's kept us busy for a while and you know how high-strung I've been about the proposal lately."

Elsa nods, reluctant to accept his answer but keeping herself from further asking. A simple response for a simple question. Simple. The truth. What else did she expect?

Eugene speaks again. "She's changed, you know? I mean she was never _bad_. She's always been one of the best humans I know. But she's... I don't know. She's done some growing." He slips his right hand inside the pocket where he keeps the ring before he drapes his left arm over her shoulder. "We all have," he adds as an afterthought. "I mean look at us, getting married and stuff."

So it seems that a random passerby has overheard the news. "Congratulations!" he exclaims.

"Thanks!" Eugene yells back, laughing when Elsa groans and covers her face in embarrassment. "Wait until I tell Rapunzel about this. She's gonna love it."

"Yes, please, go ahead. Stomp on my pride."

"But we're so close to June already," he says. "Soon you'll have your gay pride renewed same way the moon shines again every month. And you shall be here. And you shall be queer."

"Please shut up."

He laughs harder and doesn't let go of her when she tries to squirm away from under his arm. Instead, he steers her to the right, towards Fifth Avenue. "Come on. Let me buy you some cheap but tasty lunch. We still have a proposal to plan."

* * *

Elsa waits at the bottom of the stairs, watching Theo come down with the aid of her cane and a nurse. She keeps mumbling under her breath, grumbling and frowning, and Elsa doesn't catch the last thread of her spiel until she's closer to the landing.

"... could run from here to the station if I wanted to."

"Is she giving you a hard time, Gaby?" Elsa asks the nurse.

"She says she doesn't need my help," Gaby responds with a hint of amusement. "Says she doesn't need the cane and to stick the wheelchair up our—"

"Ass," Theo finishes. "Yes, I said that."

"How irreverent of you," Elsa says through a smile

The elder rolls her eyes. She stomps the cane on the wooden floor despite still holding herself up with Gaby's support. "I have little left of my pride. I refuse to take the wheelchair."

"But it's a long trip," Gaby points out.

She lets go of the nurse, raises her arms up, takes a few steps forward, does a little dance. "I can handle myself," she states. "End of discussion."

"Maybe she _can_ handle herself for the day," Elsa says, trying to ease everybody's mind. Gaby looks unconvinced. So she presses on. "If she gets tired or anything we'll just take a break. But I think it'll do her good to visit the city for real this time. What do you say, Theo?"

But Theo is already heading for the door.

Outside, the quiet of Queens' suburbs reigns. The morning birds still chirp overhead, the distant squeal of a kid penetrates the air, and Theo's enthusiastic, southern-tinted voice comes through: "So which way to the subway station?"

Elsa looks up from the ride she was about to order. "You don't want to take a cab like last time?"

"Three days ago I wasn't feelin' as alive as today, sugar." She begins walking west, which makes Elsa wonder if she knew all along which way the subway station was. "I want the full New Yorker experience this time," she throws over her shoulder.

Elsa chuckles, shakes her head in disbelief. She watches Theo tread the path for a couple of seconds, leaning only slightly on the cane with each step she takes. She's walking at a good, steady pace, given the on-and-off symptoms she tells her she's been having ever since she begrudgingly admitted to the nausea during Elsa's visit a week ago. It took almost half a day to convince her to get some tests done and Theo had only accepted because Elsa had promised she would go with her to each visit she required.

So here they were now, beginning a road trip to the city, with the hospital as their last destination. It was time to learn the results. Something that didn't seem to preoccupy Theo but which Elsa had been having a hard time not thinking about.

"Are you comin', slowpoke?"

Elsa starts in a run to catch up.

"Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you can be?"

"Oh, honey. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me that you would be payin' visits at a Manhattan condo."

* * *

They arrive to the city with a handful of hours to spare. They get off the M line, exit on Lexington Avenue. She allows time for Theo to look up at the grey towers, at the forgotten strands of sky between them. She looks up herself and wonders: will this feeling ever get old?

Walking with Theo by her side, Elsa has the sense that not a single person who resembles her age ever walks these streets. A city that won't pause even to shrug has no place for those unable to keep up with it. It seems to be a ludicrous concept, an unfathomable option. There is no time left in the ticking hours of the day to remember that a human is meant to reach the old age. No time to be reminded of the inevitable. New York City is a machine, and every rusty component within must be discarded.

The path that leads to the Rockefeller Center is leisurely trodden. One storefront, one street number, one glimpse of the Empire State Building incites a story out of Theo until she has almost forgotten she relies on a cane for support. The city breathes life into her just like Elsa thought—and hoped—it would.

They stop by Magnolia Bakery and buy a blueberry cake that they share sitting at the Channel Gardens of the skyscraper. It is here that Theo fully catches up on the happenings of Elsa's life. Her patients: the old man with the magnet, the young man with the heart disease that has no way of being saved. She tells him about Sasha and Rapunzel, about the status of Eugene's proposal plans. They discuss marriage and Theo's advise never to get married for comfort instead of love. They discuss divorce and Theo's advise to get a prenup. Elsa brings up nearly everything and everyone except for the one person she craves to talk about and the one single, seemingly inconsequential factor that binds them together right now: a text message.

But that had to be it right there. This craving. This endless need to bring Anna up that is constantly being ignited by the very same necessity to see her again. It is a vicious cycle that keeps getting smaller and smaller around her, darkening her line of vision, clouding her judgement. It left no room for herself. It needed to stop.

She takes Theo inside the Rockefeller so that she can look at the mural—the one not painted by Diego Rivera, the one that has no Lenin as its centerpiece. Again, there are no people anywhere near Theo's age crisscrossing on the polished floor of the lobby. Those who are can only possibly be found at the top, in secluded penthouses, wearing expensive suits and drinking expensive liquor. Most likely white. Most likely men. It occurs something to Elsa then: "Next time we come I'll take you to the Top of the Rock," she promises Theo, who gives her a look that is both thrilled and mischievous. There is a fragment in time where their visit to the doctor is nothing more than a forgotten destination.

From the Rockefeller to the Grand Central Library the way is south. Seven short blocks that tend to feel like three. _This is why people walk everywhere here,_ Elsa thinks. _This is why you find yourself one late night stroll reaching Chinatown when you could have sworn you'd just passed Greenwich._

They don't enter the library. Instead, they round the corner and head towards Bryant Park. They stop by a stand where a young black woman, her hair braided into cornrows dotted at the end with colored beads, sells sunglasses and headscarves. She wears a t-shirt with the word _Queen_ imprinted fancily on its front, has a gold-framed tooth, calls Theo 'mama'. Elsa buys a headscarf with sunflowers on it and a pair of sky blue sunglasses. The scarf is for Theo, she says. In that case, the woman responds, I can style it up for you real good. Theo agrees without hesitation. The corner of 5th and 40th becomes an impromptu hair salon.

They find a free table in the park, under the shadows of large, lush trees. Elsa offers to buy something to drink while Theo sits down and rests, then crosses the street to the same coffee shop she always visits when she's in the area.

Inside and as she waits in line, what is almost an instinct by now drives Elsa to pull out her phone. Her thumb hovers over the screen, indecisive yet predictable in the quick succession of its moves. She opens her messages and goes straight to Anna's, the quicker the better, the less time she has to consider just how pathetic it is to still be analyzing a message she has yet to respond to. And how ironic, too, that she waited so long for this only to hesitate. Only to have it coincide with the one moment where she has finally questioned what self-worth truly meant.

_I don't want this to be a 'life happens' kind of thing anymore,_ Anna wrote. That's what it had been, hadn't it? A 'got swept up by life' kind of thing. Blink and you might miss it. Where did the time go? one asks. It went nowhere. Like matter, it is not created or destroyed. It only changes its form. It is burnt away by one's actions and decisions, and its ashes are the memories that result from them.

Elsa orders a cucumber lemonade for herself and a sweet lemon iced for Theo, and waits. She becomes enthralled by the way the shop's window serves as a screen to the other side. She stares, suddenly wondering what she would do if she saw Anna walking across it right now. She feels like laughing but settles for an inward smile. She knows exactly what she would do, so much so that it all runs through her mind like a clear and perfect movie. She would run out of the shop, call out her name and stand with breathless expectation as she turns around. The breeze would pick up for a brief pause, the world would come to a standstill.

What would it be like to kiss Anna again, after all this time? What would it be like to shake her by the shoulders and ask, _Why did we let life happen to us this way?_

Her name is called out. The sharp, damp coldness of the plastic cups brings her back to the present. She asks for a tray.

Elsa crosses the busy street again, steps over the dirt and through the bushes rather than rounding for the designated path. She feels like a rebel. Theo is still sitting at the same table but now, she is writing. An open journal sits atop her crossed legs, the pen in her hand sweeps the page from left to right, left to right, leaving tiny footsteps made of ink on its wake. Elsa approaches slowly.

"Should I come back later?" she asks.

"Nonsense," Theo says as she finishes one last sentence, drops a period and closes her journal. She accepts the iced tea with a wide smile. "You're spoilin' me rotten today."

"Consider it payback for all the free therapy sessions you've given me," Elsa responds, making her laugh; a low, refrained sound, nothing like the way she used to laugh many months ago. "So what were you writing? If you don't mind sharing."

"Just jotting down little trinkets of my life."

"Like a memoir?"

"A memoir is somethin' you publish, isn't it?"

"I believe so," Elsa says.

Theo nods pensively, but keeps the answer to herself. She looks briefly away, her brown eyes slightly narrowed by the sunlight that cascades through the canopy of the trees. The headscarf fits her well, Elsa notices, like a crown.

"I was remembering what my momma always used to say," Theo recounts. "She was always sayin' how important it was that I had kids. 'Cause then when I got old I would have someone to look after me. 'Your kids will look after you and your grandkids will look after your kids,' she'd say. And I'd roll my eyes and say, ' _Yes_ , momma.'"

Elsa smirks. "But you never listened."

She shakes her head. "I gave her a hard time 'til the very end."

"You really never wished you had kids?"

Theo places a hand on her journal, as if by touching it she would be able to draw the answer to Elsa's question. "Sometimes I wish I'd had a big family like my brothers and sisters. Same way I wish sometimes that I'd stayed in the south and same way I wish I'd stayed married to my dreary, old husband."

"So like wishful thinking."

She gives her a smile. "You don't ever consider the alternatives to your own life?"

Elsa kicks at the dirt with her shoe. "More often than I care to admit," she mutters. She's used to spending nights considering nothing but alternatives. What if Anna had spoken sooner, or Elsa pushed harder? What if the two of them had not allowed the gap of silence to separate them until it was too large to breach? What if Elsa had loved her any less? Would any of this had hurt as much? Or if Elsa had cared for herself some more, would she have spent three years carried away by her yearning for Anna's return?

She remembers those first months after their break up, how she would stare at herself in the mirror for minutes on end. How she had the look of someone who might wait forever.

"I keep thinking that I should focus on myself more," she tells Theo. "You know, work on self-worth and all that."

"Is that what you would'a done differently? Focused more on yourself?"

Elsa dwells on this. Is it? Would a touched up ego have changed anything? Perhaps not. Perhaps, she thinks, their egos never played a part at all.

Theo is watching her closely. "Self-worth don't always have to be found being alone, honey."

She looks up through her lashes. "You did it."

The elder gives another gentle smile. "I ain't the one fighting against the current, sugar."

"You think that's what I'm doing?"

"I think I've known you long enough to know when your mouth is sayin' one thing and your eyes another."

Elsa nods even if this isn't something she's happily ready to accept. She fiddles with the straw of her lemonade, twists it from side to side, making the liquid swirl and the ice chunks clink against each other. She imagines herself being taken away by the current. She imagines floating in a stream filled with time's ashes, reaching the river mouth and being carried into a sea of teal blue eyes.

A hand touches hers. Theo says: "Understanding comes with love, you know?"

"But I tried understanding for so long..."

"I don't mean you," she tells Elsa. "I mean her."

A question forms in her mind that doesn't need to leave her mouth. "You're already assuming she won't be able to understand what's goin' on in your mind," Theo says. "Give that girl the benefit of the doubt. She might surprise you."

Elsa doesn't respond. She looks away at the green lawn of the park, at the strangers who have decided to spend an afternoon soaking up the sun. In the distance, she sees a girl. Copper red hair over freckle-kissed shoulders. She is laughing at something someone else is saying, oblivious to the person who watches from afar. She is not Anna—doesn't quite look like her, either. But Elsa's lips are tugged at the corners, and the ghost of a smile has appeared on her face because, for a moment, Elsa wishes she were.

* * *

At the hospital, in the waiting room, Elsa makes her silent classifications. Patient. Parent. Friend. Distant relative. Doctor. Nurse. The adult patients are easy. They are the ones with slippers and reactionary, ill-fitting smiles. They smile to show there is nothing to worry about, that they themselves are not worried. The parents are easy too. Every dreary imagining has come upon them, and their eyes and lips are pinched by shock. Age has caught up, it has not been forgiving. The distant relatives and the friends are hard to tell apart, except that the relatives tread lightly, in circles, back and forth, while the friends take the burden of bringing cheer and teddies, watered down coffees from the cafeteria. Doctors wear their authority on their white coats and in their urgent strides, and they make Elsa wonder if she looks the same when she's on call. The nurses give out nods and brief, encouraging smiles that ignite in the parents a look of expectancy, as if they had remembered something to say; on the tip of their tongue and gone again.

"Ms. Jackson?"

Both Theo and Elsa turn to the call. Doctor Moore is standing by the door that leads to his consultation room. Elsa had only recognized him in passing before, a vague face in lectures, in the cafeteria, in the hallway that had solidified itself the first time they visited his office three days ago. He smiles at them when they approach and shakes each of their hands in a gesture that communicates nothing except for courtesy. Elsa begins fidgeting the moment they sit down.

"Okay," Doctor Moore says, "We have a lot to discuss. But first I would like to know, how have you been feeling, Ms. Jackson?"

"Feelin' fine, doc," Theo responds, patting at the wrinkles of her long floral skirt, touching lightly the base of the headscarf wrapped around her short, grayish hair. The corners of Elsa's mouth twitch. _Flirt,_ she thinks to herself.

"No symptoms then? No nausea or vomiting? Any abdominal pain?"

She shakes her head proudly, which makes the doctor nod in response. For a fleeting moment Elsa catches in him a sign of hesitation as he rearranges himself in his chair, leaning closer to his desktop. It is as though she were hyperaware of every movement, every look that crosses his face, every breathing pause he takes. Like the weary sigh before a confession, the doctor's slight change in demeanor is causing dread to pulsate against her ribcage.

"Do you want to see the CT scans?" he asks Theo.

"Yes."

He brings up the images on the computer and Elsa quickly studies them before she does her best to conceal the breath she sucks in. Her stomach churns as the doctor points out each gray shape on the scan. The liver. The kidneys. The spine. He does so slowly in order to orient Theo while Elsa wishes she could accuse him of stalling. He then scrolls up to a less discernible smudge near the center of the scan and pauses.

"What's that?" Theo asks. Elsa's chest grows hollow.

"That is a tumor," he delivers gently, "growing at the head of your pancreas."

A hand searches blindly for Elsa's.

"Is it cancer?"

The nod of his head is so faint it is almost nonexistent, but it is enough for Theo to understand; to take a deep breath and lift her chin up. Her eyelids shut down for a moment, and another breath goes in, and another one goes out. Elsa watches her in silence. She feels sorrow hanging like a stone pendant within her throat, the cold, smooth mass preventing her from speaking. She swallows thickly. She wishes she could take this away from her, extract it from the palm, the fingertips, the knuckles she holds in her hands, crumple it and discard it dead on the floor. So that Theo won't have to worry about this ever again. So that she can live for many more years than the time she has left.

At last, Theo speaks. "So what's next?" Her voice is austere and sober. Steady as the trunk of an ancient oak.

"I would have to redirect you to an oncologist," he says. "Whenever you are ready."

"Ready for what, exactly?"

"To discuss your treatment options."

Suddenly, Theo turns to Elsa. "What do you think, honey?"

Elsa blinks, willing herself to keep her eyes from watering. She clears her throat. "I think the sooner we discuss your options, the sooner you'll know which one to choose."

She turns back to the doctor. "How bad is it?" she asks, reminding Elsa of all the patients who have asked her the same thing.

Doctor Moore opens and closes his mouth, visibly thrown off by the amount of information Theo is requesting with this much sobriety all at once. It almost makes Elsa want to chuckle, but her throat has been clenched tight again. "Unfortunately, it has spread to the liver and the peritoneum, which is the lining of your abdominal cavity."

Theo hums. She inhales and exhales deeply again, squeezes Elsa's hand with gentle force. "So it's bad."

"It has metastasized, yes."

She pauses. "Give me a few days, doc," she tells him with serenity.

There is not a lot left to say, not a lot that comes out of Theo's mouth except for a few monosyllabic answers to the remaining of the doctor's questions. They head for the elevator slowly, every step measured by the elder's pace who seems in need, once again, of her cane. Elsa forces herself to keep her tears at bay, for it is not the time for grieving. It should not have to be. Not today, nor tomorrow. Not like this. She tries to discern Theo's emotions so that she can know how to provide something that could be tantamount to comfort, but every time she steals a glance she is met with a soft and solemn expression.

Inside the elevator, Theo finally speaks. It is enough for Elsa's heart to shrink and swell, a mingled sensation of deep sadness and great, inexhaustible love.

"I didn't know it was possible to feel gratitude and regret at the same time."

Elsa squeezes the hand tucked inside her elbow until she feels it squeeze her back, and a single, lonely tear begin to make its way down her cheek.

* * *

The low sound of a radio station fills the warm air inside the car. The taxi driver lets out a quiet, humming sound from time to time, an agreeing nod here and then. A brown rosary hangs from the rear-view mirror, its cross dangling from side to side at the stops and the turns.

_In the beginning,_ the radio speaks, _God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was in joints. Therefore, the most important work is of separation. It is of pulling apart the tangled threads. Of saying, 'This shall be separate from that. This shall be water, this shall be sky, and this shall be the line between them: the horizon.'_ Another hum comes from the driver. Elsa goes on listening without quite meaning to. _What does it mean, then, that this world came into being at first through a blinding act, before, slowly, elements were set apart and infinitely fine lines were drawn? It means that to understand the world as God intended us to, one must understand first the act of separation._

Theo herself hums at this, while Elsa smiles at the realization that she had been listening as well. She watches her closely for a moment, shifting her focus away from the voice of the radio. A faint smile plays on Theo's lips like a pose of strength. The acceptance of a fate as inexorable as the tide. 

"Do you know my options, honey?" Theo asks.

Elsa wrings her hands together. "Chemotherapy will most likely be the main option but we won't know for sure until we see an oncologist."

"No surgery?"

She looks down at the space between them. "Not when it has metastasized."

Theo nods her head slowly. "My brother Jimmy died of cancer," she says. "Lung cancer, I think. He said he'd taken one good look at those results and thought, Whatever that is is gonna kill me. He called it a ghost. And now I have my own. I got a ghost growin' inside of me."

Elsa feels as if something were pushing against her chest, beating nonstop, harder and harder until she is sure the only way for it to stop is if she screamed. Except that she can't. She won't. Because this fate belongs to Theo and all Elsa can do is walk by her side until they reach the point of separation.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asks her.

Theo twines and untwines her fingers together. "There is something..."

"Anything."

She faces away from the window so that she can fix her eyes on Elsa. There is in them that familiar glint that has always belonged to her, that usual flash of youthful spirit that has so often been unparalleled. The same unwavering support that has never deserted Elsa when she's needed it the most; the one that has always seemed to know best and that will always look out for her no matter where she goes.

It is this look which holds Elsa in place as Theo reaches across the seat, places her hand atop hers and finally asks: "Will you call Anna for me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The piece related by the radio speaker was extracted from the book Disobedience by Naomi Alderman.


	37. There's sunflowers, that's for devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you guys might like this chapter... or I sure as shit hope you do *sobs just because*

If Anna were to rip off every page of every journal that lay on the floor and decided to tape each one of them to the walls of her apartment, she would be able to cover every corner of it with not a single glimpse of beige paint ever to be seen again. 

But Anna wouldn't do that, even if the idea is so ludicrous that she has fun entertaining it for about a minute. She could wake up every morning to the sight of her own handwriting staring back at her, standalone sentences or entire pages filled up with scrawls that she often categorizes as awkward and timid pertaining to her early college years; lulling and even painful to read belonging to the few years she could barely get a word out; messy, quick and almost urgent reflecting the last few months of her life, as though she were chasing after the ideas in her mind, never catching up.

Anna doesn't quite know what she's looking for amidst traces and scraps of her own musings. Some of them are so old they're cringy and some others are so ambiguous Anna wishes she could go back in time, find her younger self and ask, _YOU CALL THIS A PROMPT?!_ Although she thinks: it must be this way for everyone else. Going back to one's old writings is like thinking about one's own past. Some of it makes sense, some of it doesn't. Some is funny, some is depressing. Some of it makes you say out loud: What the fuck was I thinking?

But life goes on either way, and one must keep writing either way.

She does, however, know what she's doing. She's fishing for ideas in the old, sluggish lake that is her consciousness. It doesn't hurt to try. Writers do it all the time, right? It's part of the process, seeing how much you've improved, laughing at your own incongruousness at times, drawing out ancient ideas, blowing some air on them to get rid of the dust and polishing them to make them look like new. _Hey, this just occurred to me yesterday. Definitely not two years ago when I was alone and depressed._

It's been a little over three weeks since she met up with Lauren. Three weeks of searching, writing, and searching some more. She wakes up in the morning, looks at herself in the mirror and thinks: today is breakthrough day. Except that it isn't. And it's not that she isn't inspired, like before. She is. Ideas come and go, they dangle in front of her when she least expects it: inside coffee shops, in the train, at the grocery store in the fruits and veggies department. Hell, even at work where one is supposed to be thinking about work. But there are small, trite ideas and there are ideas that make you want to write an actual book. Two hundred plus pages of absolute nonsense (to you) that may reach the hearts of one or two people according to your targeted audience.

Anna feels as though she were standing in front of a claw machine—the one with the shiny, multi-colored stuffed bears—and she keeps putting in 50 cents borrowed from her sanity piggy bank but no shiny, multi-colored bear comes out. The claw is weak. The bears are too big. But she keeps trying. She moves the claw with surgical precision, her nose almost touching the glass. The claw goes down, down, down and... nothing. So Anna slams the machine with her fist and exclaims, "This is rigged!" before the aloof teenage employee approaches her and asks, "What's the problem?" with a voice so impassive he's almost explicitly saying, "I hate my job." And Anna demands to know why, no matter how many 50 cents she puts in, the claw won't pick any bear up. "Because it's rigged," the teenage states as if everybody in the world, even the Pope, knew. And Anna fumes. She kicks the machine, glares at the smiling stuffed animals inside and, begrudgingly, pulls out another two quarters. Because one of these days it will be breakthrough day. One of these days the machine that is her own writing won't be rigged. And one of these days she will have a multi-colored bear to show the world.

She picks up one of her college journals to see what her college self had to say. It's a composition book with the classic grainy black and white style. She remembers it being one of the three journals she bought at Shakespeare & Co. during her first year at NYU. Back during her brief period of time obsessing over Shakespeare's sonnets and plays. She opens the notebook on the first page and chuckles at her own predictability. Lines belonging to her favorite Shakespearean works fill up the space like threads of a whole tapestry.

_If music be the food of love..._

"Play on," Anna finishes out loud with a smile. A pair of beaming blue eyes appears like a mirage in the back of her mind, beckoning her farther away from the present and into a memory that is vague and fragmented. There are trickles of music, afternoon sunlight, a gentle breeze. There is the taste of Elsa's lips and the taste of sadness, too.

The memory shakes her almost the same as the moment itself once did.

She goes on leafing through the journal absentmindedly. Searching but not really looking. There had been so much in her college self's mind, she realizes, but not a lot that feels profound now. Is it common to categorize your younger issues into trifling matters? No, she supposes it is not. Some people take them seriously because they were once serious. For Anna, it feels as if their magnitude had diminished with every passing year. Shrinking and shrinking until they became so small all she had to do was give them a kick. Stones eroded from her childhood years, falling off the bridge and into the water.

She stumbles upon a short piece of writing. Something akin to a prompt, she figures. _You call this a prompt?_ resonates in her mind again. It makes her give out a tiny snort.

_She (who?) stepped into the train one ~~fortuitous~~ day with her head held high and a gait as purposeful as the one belonging to a queen. ~~Her scent was that of~~ Her steps were mutely counted by the rest of us; each one more boisterous than the last ~~one~~. Her gaze, impassible and penetrating; a pair of ice cold irises that looked around the car in such ~~an inconspicuous~~ a manner that she seemed as though she were reading each one of us like a book placed at her mercy._

Anna stares at the words, a mixture of laughter and an embarrassing groan bubbling up in her throat. She closes the notebook and throws it back onto the messy pile that sits between her legs. Her hand hovers over another journal but it retreats almost immediately. It tells Anna: "Chill, for a sec," and she decides to listen. She reclines against the bed with a loud exhale. The room answers back with its usual, surrounding silence.

The time on her phone says 6:54 PM and even this is mocking. She can't believe she's spent over an hour sitting on the floor going through old stuff. She needs to find something else to do. She needs to stand up because she can no longer feel her body from her waist down and she needs to make some coffee so that she can keep doing whatever it is that she thinks she's doing.

Anna stands up as if carrying on her shoulders the weight of her whole life's laments. She limps to her kitchen: her left foot has fallen asleep. Needles prick and travel from the tip of her toes all the way up to her calf as she curses and reaches the counter. Coffee, coffee, coffee. She opens the cabinet. No coffee. Anna narrows her eyes. She checks all the other cabinets. No coffee still. This must be a joke. But she knows it isn't because this is what her life has become. In between waiting to see Theo again to discuss the probabilities of her love life and finding a book-worthy idea—insert work duties somewhere in there—Anna has forgotten to go grocery shopping.

"How dare you," she tells herself.

Regardless of whatever answer she may summon, Anna steps away, limping still. She doesn't change out of her clothes; decides that it is inconsequential to leave her apartment dressed in an old NYU shirt and sports shorts. She eyes the pile of notebooks with detachment, suddenly aware that she won't be finding her shiny teddy bear in there.

She takes her keys and her phone and puts on her favorite pair of Chucks. She decides to leave the lights on in the apartment, for when she returns. It has always made her feel less lonely.

* * *

For a while, Anna doesn't know where she's heading.

She had intended to buy a coffee from across the street, maybe even a sandwich, and come back home feeling proud to have succeeded at least at that. But the warm evening had been beckoning, eternally tempting in what Anna considered to be her favorite time of the year. So she chose to walk instead; move past the corner coffee shop where they knew her name, her order and the one time she spilled coffee at the entrance, and explore once more the streets she could roam with her eyes closed.

The keys jangle in her pocket, her phone flaps. They keep pulling at her shorts, weighing them down, and Anna keeps having to pull them back up until she pauses at a corner and tightens them up—something she should have done since before leaving her apartment but something she never, ever did. Habits and all that. However, she doesn't go down the avenue as she so often does, but instead chooses to go down West 4th. A path she hadn't followed since her college years, back when she'd munch on an everything bagel while walking down the street and drink her coffee while waiting for the lights to turn. She knew one or two things about time management even back then.

The street is lively. The lights of every business blend in with the darkened blue of sunset's remnants. Anna's ears are pricked with traces of conversations as she passes people by. A woman is having an argument over the phone; two girls carrying grocery bags are laughing; a man and a woman seem to be talking about work; two men are discussing a roommate's sex life. Anna overhears their words as though she were pulling at loose, random threads, never knowing what will come out.

She reaches 7th Avenue as if by chance: she had not been paying close attention. Across the street there is a pizza joint, and Anna decides it's time for a nutritious dinner even if the memories the place elicits are brought back to the forefront of her mind with a single glance.

There is a tiny jazz bar not too far from this pizza joint. A cubbyhole kind of place in the basement of some Village building. Crampy, noisy, but with good drinks and even better music. Anna remembers having wondered how they'd managed to fit a baby grand piano in there. They had all gone out that night, she remembers that too. Kristoff, Eugene, Rapunzel, Elsa... They'd taken turns listening to the live band and talking animatedly at the bar. They'd gotten buzzed, clumsy and loud but not entirely loose-headed. They'd had pizza afterwards. At this exact place.

Anna gets a cheese slice and goes to sit at the bar by the window. She eats slowly, distractedly. It had not hit her until a couple of months after their decision to take a break that their group dynamic had suffered because of it as well. It had shifted, become convoluted. No longer did they hang out the five of them. The ties that bounded them together loosened and they ceased to be what they once were. Anna missed this constantly. She wondered if Elsa did too; if any of them ever did.

She places her half-eaten, folded slice of pizza back on the grease-stained paper plate. She dangles her feet above the tiled floor, wipes her fingers with a napkin. How much longer, she thinks, of waiting around? Should she say 'fuck it all' and look for Elsa herself? Do a stake out at the elderly center? Or should she just accept Elsa's silence as her definite answer? Anna would be lying if she said that every day that went by didn't make her lean more and more towards the latter. The last thing she wanted to do was put any pressure on Elsa, keep her back where she may not want to be. If Elsa wanted full out, then so be it. She'd meant what she said in the text. She wanted nothing more than for her to be happy.

But this _limbo_. This fuckery of an Alighieri-like situation. It was no bueno.

Anna finishes her slice with a mopey attitude. Upon exiting the place she considers going back home, but be it the warm night or the liveliness of the neighborhood, Anna doesn't feel ready to return.

She continues east, following the path that will take her to NYU. Up above: an airplane blinking across a starless sky. Looking at them now, Anna realizes that she wished upon many of them back when she was a kid. She used to think stars could move like that. Like shooting stars but old, because they traveled much slower. The virtue of innocence, she thinks now, makes one wish on a streetlamp with the conviction that it'll become true. But maybe it was never about the object. Maybe it's always been about the belief.

When she reaches 6th Avenue, Anna makes a sudden right, southbound. The destination comes to her like a thought bursting through as she passes by the basketball courts where a game is taking place. She hears the squeaking of shoes, the ball bouncing, the men calling out to each other. In the distance, a number of strings are playing.

One more block and she'll have reached the park. A corner park, she thinks they call them. Or at least she thinks they should. Square just doesn't make sense when its shape is a triangle. Anna eyes those already occupying the benches. She observes the water that cascades down the fountain but cannot quite hear it: there is far too much going on outside this tiny place _._

In the pocket of her shorts, her phone suddenly rings.

It is not that the name on the screen scares her, really, but the effect it has on her is undeniably physical. It petrifies her, glues her to the ground on which she stands, unable to breathe.

Elsa is calling.

She picks up without a second thought. "Hello?"

There is a pause. "Hi," comes from the other side of the line.

Anna's face breaks into a tentative grin. She doesn't know what to do, what to say. For a moment she forgets everything except for Elsa's name. "Hey," she repeats, willing herself to get a grip. "How," she clears her throat, "How are you?"

There is a longer break this time. Enough for her to find the nearest bench and sit on it. The iron is cold against the back of her thighs. It barely bothers her.

"I'm okay," Elsa finally breathes. "What about you?"

"I'm okay as well," she replies a little too quickly, unable to keep her emotions from manifesting themselves on her wavering voice. For so long, Anna had pictured this moment. She'd dwelt on it, recreated time and again the same event under different circumstances. What would they tell each other? Would it be easy? Difficult? Would they be angry, accusing each other of not having reached out sooner? Or would they be willing to leave everything behind, just like that. She would be prepared, she often told herself. But she should have known. She should have known the effect Elsa's voice would have on her.

"Are you busy?" Elsa asks, "I can call another time, I—"

"No, no," Anna responds, "It's okay. I was just... walking. Doing nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Okay." Yet another well of silence, the kind that exists between strangers. Anna grips her phone tighter as she hears Elsa sigh and speak again: "This is awkward."

She closes her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmurs.

Elsa doesn't appease her. Instead, she says, "It's just... been a while."

"It has been..."

Anna can picture her with almost as much clarity as if she were sitting by her side. Eyes downcast, arms loosely wrapped around her midriff. Anna wishes she could reach out to her and say out loud what's been swarming in her mind for so long. But how can she bridge that gap? Small steps, a voice tells her. Anything that'll move them forward from here.

"Are you at home right now or..?"

"No," Elsa says. 

"Oh." She nibbles at her lip. "Not at home then?"

"No," she repeats. "I'm at work right now."

Anna nods despite not being seen. "Night shift," she comments. She would like to think Elsa smiles a little at this, as if after all this time Anna still had a grasp of working hours at the hospital. However, Elsa does nothing to acknowledge it but for a soft humming sound.

"I'm not sure... I don't know why I'm calling you right now to be honest," Elsa breathes into the phone, "I should be looking at tests or finding something to eat, or resting. But Theo asked me to do it and I just couldn't..." She chokes up at the last word, unable to finish her sentence.

"What's wrong?" Anna asks. She hears a muffled cry, but no answer still. "Elsa? What happened?"

"She has cancer, Anna."

"What?"

"Theo... She has cancer."

The air escapes her lungs as if someone were pressing against her chest. Words begin to resonate in her mind; distant at first, drawing closer and closer until they're all around her, dragging her into a sea of sorrow. She's starting to feel a tight pain in the back of her throat, a stinging in her nose. Anna's vision is blurring. She feels like screaming.

"I'm sorry," Elsa murmurs in response to her silence, "I shouldn't have called right now. This probably wasn't the best time for either of us. But it was getting to me again, and I needed... I had to call you, Anna."

She closes her eyes at this. At the sound of her name coming from Elsa's lips, at the words that have been left unsaid, at the unbearable sadness of it all. She looks up at the sky then, to keep her tears from falling. Where is the moon and the stars when she needs them? Where is the gentle comfort of the night?

"How bad is it?" she asks with a weak voice.

"It's spread already."

"So that's—it's bad, right? When it spreads that means it's gotten bad. Where—how? I mean where is it? What kind? What are the chances?" Anna knows she's babbling, but she feels as though she's lost her footing. She doesn't know which questions to ask, and the answers she receives she will not know how to interpret. All she has is Elsa right now. Elsa's explanations. Elsa's reassurances. Elsa's comfort. Elsa. It has always been her.

"We only just found out this weekend," Elsa tells her, calm but rough around the edges. Cracks in her voice made by the pressure of sadness and exhaustion. "She... only told me because she said you asked her to. She says she was feeling nauseous, right?"

"Right."

Elsa breathes lowly. "Right," she repeats. "I mean it could have meant a hundred different things. I honestly didn't think it would be cancer but at that age it's always better to cross out every option with tests and scans and... yeah." She trails off, leaving enough time for Anna to silently question if it is because she doesn't want to be caught at ease. "It's pancreatic cancer," she adds. "Which has metastasized already. Neither of those things are good."

"Cancer is never good," she mutters.

"No. It isn't. But cancer in the pancreas is not... The chances are very slim."

She lets out a shuddering breath, wiping away the tear that's begun to roll down her cheek. "Okay," she whispers. "So what's next? Will she get chemo? Surgery?.. Am I asking too many questions?"

It is the first time she is sure she can hear a smile in Elsa's voice. It may be small, tired, even sad. But Anna knows it's there. She can feel it in her heart. "You're not asking too many questions," Elsa tells her softly. "As to what's next, I don't know. That's Theo's decision. She said she wanted to think about it and that she'll tell me this weekend."

Anna nods again. "That sounds... wise, I guess." She exhales. "I don't know... I wish I did, though. I wish I could just be able to cure her or something."

Elsa whispers, "Me too."

The silence that follows feels different, more tender than before; a phantom of what they used to have. Anna hears little coming from the other side of the phone call: a faint rustling of the wind, what seems like a car driving close by, Elsa's breathing coming in and out. There is a shared sadness, a temporary agreement to focus on the present rather than the past.

"Where are you?" Elsa asks her when an ambulance rushes down the street.

"I... a park," she answers, "Not sure which one. But the one that's close to Washington Square. The tiny one."

"There are many tiny ones in that area, Anna."

"The triangle one that shouldn't be called a square, remember that?"

Elsa pauses. "The one where you dropped your ice cream once?"

"Yes," Anna says, intimately without her meaning to. "That one." She has to bite her lower lip to keep herself from smiling. It should be incongruous to feel this way; to feel both the weight of sadness and the comfort of what was once so familiar permeating her soul.

"I'll leave you to it then," Elsa tells her after a moment. "I should go back anyway."

"Okay," she breathes.

"Okay..."

"Elsa?"

"Yes?"

Anna doesn't feel ready to let her go just yet. "Thank you," she says, "For telling me."

"Of course," she murmurs.

A lull stretches itself out until Anna decides to speak out one last time. "Can I ask you something?"

"... Sure."

"Will you... Would it be okay if I came to see Theo this weekend too?"

Elsa breathes out a long and quiet exhale before she softly answers: "You don't have to ask me that."

* * *

Flowers carry their own language, as intrinsically developed as the petals that blossom from their buds. Almost every imaginable sentiment can be expressed through them. Conceit, love, passion, regret. Grief. Purity. Forgiveness. In the Victorian era, a flower handed with the right hand meant 'yes.' A flower handed with the left meant 'no.' A woman given a red rose by her suitor to demonstrate his love and devotion may respond with a yellow carnation to declare disdain, or a yellow pansy to let him know she's thinking of him as well. Flowers given upside down conveyed the opposite of what was traditionally meant. There is gardenia, for secret love. Hydrangea, for gratitude. Hyacinth: blue for constancy, yellow for jealousy. Flowers give power to the playful art of silent communication. They lend out messages, the same way poets speak of trees whispering through the wind.

Anna has sought out a flower shop in Queens. It is the sensitive thing to do, she thinks. The natural course of things. But more than that, Anna doesn't want to show up empty handed. She wants to buy something cheerful, she'll tell the flower shop girl. But nothing that comes too close to a 'get well soon' bouquet. Something pretty, colorful; that will brighten up Theo's room for a week or two.

The place is called Ophelia's Bouquet. A small corner shop in the edge of the suburbs only blocks away from the Center. Succulents of various sizes line up its window sills from the outside. Next to the entrance, tiny flower pots sit on two upside-down wooden crates. The mingled fragrance of dozens of different types of flowers reaches her nostrils as soon as she steps in, a bell dinging above. The walls are soft green, the two sentences painted high up behind the counter a deep pink.

_There's rosemary, that's for remembrance..._

_...and there is pansies, that's for thoughts._

Vaguely Shakespearean, Anna thinks. Yes, yes, of course, she remembers some of it. Hamlet. That one monologue where Ophelia loses it and shows up to the castle looking like a hot mess. _There's fennel for you, and columbines._ Anna conceals a smile. Seems like the Bard's been following her around lately.

She greets the person who's trimming stems by the counter. Not a girl, but a flower shop man close to Anna's age. He smiles at her when she begins approaching and welcomes her to Ophelia's Bouquet.

"What's the occasion?" he asks.

Anna's mouth opens and closes. She tells him there is none but, "Is there something cheerful? Maybe for someone who's just received bad news and needs some cheering up? But nothing too obvious. Just neutral ground. I don't wanna depress her further by trying to... you know." She doesn't think he knows. She doesn't even know herself. She is extremely nervous, that is all she's able to recognize.

"Something neutral and not too depressing," he repeats.

"And cheerful."

"Right." He hums for a bit. "Yellow tulips for sure." The man steps around the counter and heads for the rows of flower bunches that line up one of the walls. He begins sorting through the tulips, pulling at the brightest yellow ones he can find. Anna stands just a few feet behind him, fidgeting. "How do we feel about lilies?" he asks her.

"Uh, good? They smell good."

He nods without looking at her, immersed still in something he clearly enjoys doing. He pulls a few lilies by the stem, soft yellow petals to contrast with the sharpness of the tulips' color. Walking back towards the counter he asks her if she wants a bouquet or a vase. Definitely a vase, she responds. He arranges the flowers one by one with faithful precision, filling the spaces in between with white baby's-breath; two or three branches of rich green myrtle and fine tree fern.

"Most yellow flowers signify things like cheerfulness and hope," he explains as he gives the arrangement the last few touches. "Even friendship in most cases. Then of course there's a few exceptions like the yellow—"

"Carnation?"

"I was going to say rose, but yeah." He smiles curiously at her. "You did your research."

"I just didn't want to give off the wrong message, you know?"

"Sure," he smiles, genuinely this time.

"It's not too lame, you think? Buying someone flowers that'll wither and die in a couple of weeks?"

"Lame? No. Sad, maybe."

Anna dwells on this. She grazes the tulips, the lilies, the miniature petals of the baby's-breath. They are supple and soft, fragile under the weight of her fingers. If one could touch life, she thinks, this would be it. "Why do you think people still buy them, then? If it's sad?"

"Because I don't think they consider that at all," he responds. "I think it's more about the message it sends at the beginning, regardless of whatever type of flower they end up getting."

"Which is what?" she asks.

He says: "I'm thinking of you."

She can't help but smile at this. That's it, all right. Flowers carry their own language and they speak in a way words never quite could. They break through the silence, fill in the gaps. But when symbolism and ancient meanings are scraped off the surface, they are all left with nothing but the same message.

Anna speaks just as he's about to ring her up.

"Do you have sunflowers?"

* * *

For the last couple of blocks, Anna doesn't know whether she should sprint or slow down, fully freak out or take deep, calming breaths. She is a mess, internally. Externally she is just another stranger walking through the suburbs, listening to the chirping birds, carrying a floral arrangement and a single sunflower wrapped up nicely in brown paper and secured by a dark green silky ribbon.

Somebody is mowing their lawn somewhere and even this sets her on edge. Maybe she should count her steps, focus on the cracks of the sidewalk ( _step on a crack, break your momma's back_ ) but there are no cracks to avoid, only fallen leaves and twigs. Who keeps these sidewalks so clean? So devoid of childhood games?

What is she going to say to Theo? To Elsa? She doesn't know which to consider first. The thought of Theo forms a knot in her throat; the thought of Elsa makes her hyperventilate. She should focus on the receptionist instead. If it's Tom, she will ask him what book he's reading. If it's Miriam, she will ask about her baby. If it's Linda, she'll ignore her because she's a bitch. And then what? She will have to go inside. Up the stairs, maybe, depending on how Theo is feeling today. _Oh, Theo._ This is not fair. It never is. _Fuck_ cancer. Fuck it right in the—

A man runs past her and she's startled. He's just jogging. Okay. _Phew._ He scared the shit out of her. But who runs with the sun this high up?

She wonders if Elsa still runs. But she's wondered about this before, hasn't she? She's tried to dissect every detail of her life without Anna in it. She's wondered about what she does at the hospital, about whether or not her habits have slowly changed, about the people she's met along the way. She's wondered, too, whether Elsa's been with anyone else during this time, and how she would react if she had. Would it hurt? It sure would. It would ache, both physically and emotionally, but Anna would never be able to hold it against her. Three years had been a long time. She could not be angry if life just... happened.

So what of the kiss? a voice asks her. Well, that had been different. It _felt_ different: a mistake that was never supposed to happen. But Anna doesn't wish to think about this right now. Not when she can see the Center already on the other side of the street.

She feels herself growing restless with every step she takes to cross the street, her nervousness compressing harder and harder around her body. She shudders despite June's warmth and remembers, all of the sudden, the reason why she's here. She remembers the circumstances like a wave crashing down on the shore, abruptly and all at once. The small traces of life she holds in her arms, which have nothing to do with her own; that hold none of her happiness, none of her sorrows. When she delivers them to Theo, what will they amount to?

A twinge of sadness comes to her as she makes her way inside.

It is Miriam today at the desk and Anna stops by in order to mentally prepare herself. She asks about the baby, as planned, and asks about everyone else while she's there. Miriam speaks with her freely, gives her what she asks for and more. It soothes her in a way, to be reminded that nothing much has changed inside these walls since the last time she was here.

Miriam tells her Theo is upstairs, and that so is Elsa. Anna nods to let her know she's heard her, hoping that she can't tell just how much of an effect this has on her.

She travels up the stairs one at a time. Her feet are heavy, her breathing is erratic. Her heart thrums inside her ribcage, struggling to get out, to go faster and leave her behind. It knows what's coming. It has waited for this moment for more than three years.

The sound of their voices reaches her just as she's beginning to rise up her hand to knock on the open door. She stops inches away from it, and Anna stands there, frozen and breathless. She registers Theo sitting on the bed with a smile that widens when she sees her. And she registers the girl sitting on a chair close by: the hands intertwined on her lap, the hair cascading over her shoulder, the lean neck, the soft lips, the faint freckles, the pair of deep blue eyes.

Elsa.

Everything escapes her at once; every mistake that came in between them, every aching well of silence, every single decision that drew them farther and farther apart. There is no more trace of what ifs, no more wishing for things to have happened differently. It has all been washed away by this moment, if only for a glorious instant.

"Honey."

Anna looks at Theo, who gives her an encouraging nod. It makes her realize she's been standing by the door for the past few seconds, staring back at Elsa.

It is enough to get her to talk.

"Hi."

"Hi," Elsa says back.

She takes one step inside. "I..."

Nothing comes.

"Oh, good lord," Theo mumbles. "Are those flowers ya got, sugar?"

Anna glances down at the vase she's still holding. "Yes," she says, "I brought these for you." She steps farther inside on positively quivering legs, edging dangerously close to where Elsa sits in this tiny space. Her scent reaches Anna's nose. It takes everything in her to ignore this.

She places the vase on Theo's desk but keeps the sunflower in her hand. She notices the way Elsa's gaze flickers down to it, but has no idea how to go about any of this. So she stalls, moves to the other side of the room, by the foot of Theo's bed.

"What are you gonna do with that sunflower?" Theo asks her with a hint of amusement. Anna looks at her, then at Elsa. _Too soon._ She looks down at the flower. _Too soon_. She stammers. _Too soon._ She speaks: "It's for you as well."

It is too soon, she repeats in her mind as she begins to move again. Too soon. Elsa stands up to let her pass and their eyes connect as Anna edges past her. Not a single part of them touches, but Anna feels their connection rattle her bones from head to toe. Elsa gives her the faintest of smiles, and she reciprocates the same way. I missed you, she wants to say. But it is too soon.

Anna finds herself before Theo and it's as if the thoughts in her mind had suddenly weaved and shifted. She gives her the flower, not unaware of the fact that she does so genuinely. "You look very pretty today," she tells her, and the next moment she is hugging her, burying her face in her shoulder. She feels Theo give her a squeeze, gently rub the back of her head. She wills herself not to cry.

"No time for tears yet, baby girl."

Anna shakes her head.

"Today's a good day, okay?"

Anna nods.

"Now, I'll need you to step back 'cause my neck is hurtin'."

Anna chuckles but does as she's told.

"How are you feeling?" Elsa asks from behind her.

Theo gives them both a mirthful grin. "I'm feelin' splendid."

Anna finally goes to sit at the foot of the bed, her emotions subduing, quietening inside of her. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"No," she responds, "And I still got a day to think it over so let's just leave it at that."

" _Theo_ ," both girls say at the same time, causing them to look at each other for a pause that is broken by Elsa looking away, the ghost of a blush on her cheeks.

"You shouldn't drag it out," she tells the elder. "If you go for treatment, the sooner you start the better."

Theo twiddles with the stem of the sunflower. "That's the thing, honey. I don't know if I want treatment."

"But _why_?" Anna asks.

"'Cause it can't be cured with chemo."

"You don't know that," Elsa argues.

She rolls her eyes stubbornly. "Yes, I know. Gaby told me."

Anna narrows her eyes. She doubts Gaby gave out that piece of information willingly. She then glances over at Elsa, who is clearly struggling to find the right words. She decides to help her out a little.

"How did you fish it out of her?"

Theo raises a resolute hand. "Irrelevant."

She tries. She really does. It shouldn't be funny, but Anna is unable to keep her laugh in. What a sliver of joy this brings her, to know that Theo will not stop being sassy. And what a joy as well that, looking over at Elsa, she finds a very similar reaction.

"We should still discuss your options with a doctor," Elsa suggests.

"Okay," Theo agrees with a hint of reluctance. "You can make an appointment and let me know. But tomorrow, right now I'm gettin' sleepy and I wish to sleep."

"But I just got here," Anna whines.

Theo points at her with the sunflower. "You were late, missy."

She pouts, to which the elder responds with a wink. "Go now," she says, "Do what young adults do on weekends. Whatever that is." When she notices the reluctance in both their expressions, she adds: "I promise I'm fine."

Unsure of how to proceed, Anna lets Elsa be the first to move. She watches her stand up slowly without looking her way, hug Theo goodbye, tell her a few last words. Anna understands her stepping aside as her queue to say goodbye to Theo as well. She feels Elsa move behind her as she hugs her, senses her leave the bedroom when Theo says, "Next weekend, just you and me, honey."

Anna nods despite the gnawing dejection she feels at having noticed Elsa leaving. "Promise me you'll see the doctor this week?"

"I promise."

She accepts this, making a move to go before Theo squeezes her hand one last time. "Good luck, honey," she tells her.

Anna gives her a sad smile, and leaves the room.

She walks down the stairs weighed down by despondency. She is disappointed at how things have turned out, how they have begun and ended just as quickly. It shouldn't have been hard asking Elsa to stay. But maybe that's what needed to happen. Maybe she's finally found the answer she's been seeking for weeks.

Miriam is speaking on the phone by the time she reaches the lobby. She waves at her goodbye and the woman does the same. The smile that Anna gives her doesn't reach her eyes.

Outside, the sun is still warm and the birds are still chirping the same song. Everything has remained the same except for Elsa, who leans against the fence, looking away towards the street. Anna thinks she could cry—of relief, regret, or joy, she does not know. But she approaches with hesitant movements, as if by moving as she normally does were to startle her. But of course, Elsa has noticed her before she has even seen her, for she looks behind her shoulder and watches Anna close the distance between them.

Elsa takes her in and she does the same. There is little of her that has changed, yet the maturity she radiates is unmistakable. Her demure beauty, her discerning eyes, the quiet air that has always belonged to her; they have all grown with her. Undeniably so. They exist in silence, in this brief space in time where nothing else has place in their lives except for each other. Anna longs to touch her but the same two words resonate in her mind. Small steps, she thinks instead. No matter how far ahead her heart already feels; already holding her hand; already having her in her arms; already kissing her; already loving her again.

Small steps. 

"Can we talk?"

Elsa pushes herself away from the fence, never once removing her eyes from Anna.

"Where do you want to go?" she murmurs.

And for now, that is all she needs to hear.


	38. Of Skittles and love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the Skittles from chapter 1? Remember the park from chapter 17? Remember Elsa's thoughts on Anna Karenina from chapter 8? Fun fact: the first scene of this chapter was meant to be in chapter 12 - their first Valentine's Day together - but I decided to take it out and have it fit as a flashback scene (yes that's how far in advance I'd thought about them breaking up). 
> 
> The songs used at the end of this chapter are Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen, and Beyond by Leon Bridges. As always, big THANK YOU to everyone. And now, lo and behold, the much awaited reunion...

_The room was warm and quiet, lit up by the pale hue of winter coming in from the window. Snow fell gently; specks touched the glass, gathered at its sill. From the other side of the room's door, in muffled sounds, audience laughter could be heard: Rapunzel and Eugene were watching TV. Laziness permeated the air, a low and soft purr that made breathing grow slower and the eyelids feel heavier._

_Elsa let herself be carried away by time's stillness as she weaved her fingers through Anna's hair, her girlfriend's head resting on her lap. A journal lay discarded on the carpeted floor of her bedroom; a pen not too far from there. The book_ Rapid Interpretations of EKG's _and a yellow notepad sat on the other side of her, forgotten as well. From where Elsa sat, she noticed a lonely green Skittle under the desk before a yellow one crossed her line of sight. It traveled up, then down, hitting Anna in the teeth._

_"Ouch."_

_"You're so bad at this," Elsa smiled._

_"Like you're any better."_

_"Better than you."_

_"Shut it."_

_Elsa laughed as she caught with her hand the next Skittle Anna tossed in an attempt to catch it with her mouth. It made the girl pout._

_"Shouldn't you be writing?" she asked._

_"Shouldn't you be studying?"_

_"I can't study when you keep hurling Skittles all over my room. Who's going to get them out? Not you, that much I know."_

_Anna giggled as she began to sit up in order to reposition herself with a leg on each side of Elsa. "Why are you so_ _mean_ _to me_? _"_

_"I'm being realistic," she retorted, hugging her arms loosely around Anna's waist._

_"Being realistic is overrated."_

_"Being realistic is part of my—" she was quietened with a kiss. Lips wrapped around her lower lip, sucking gently, as heat spread through her body and pooled between her legs. Her hands settled on Anna's hips, squeezed with wanton, pulled her in with sudden urge._

_At this, Anna pulled back. "You should be studying," she repeated._

_"I hate you."_

_She hummed, unconvinced. The Skittles in the packet rattled as she began sorting through them before pulling out an orange one and placing it close to Elsa's lips. A peace offering._

_"I don't know how you can like the orange ones," Anna pointed out when she accepted it._

_Elsa ignored the comment as she managed to kiss the hand that was already pulling away. "You know," she said instead, "I used to color code Skittles when I was younger."_

_"Younger as in..?"_

_"Ten, I think."_

_"How come you don't do it anymore?"_

_She shrugged. "I don't eat much of it, and I only like the orange ones anyway."_

_"So you would just buy them to fulfill your quirky habit?"_

_Elsa snorted. "No, silly. Rapunzel ate them. She hoards them just like you."_

_"Ah," she drew out. "A woman after my own heart."_

_"Yeah. Too bad she's straight and you had to settle for the cousin."_

_Anna threw her head back in a laugh while Elsa watched, entranced and in love. She relished days like this where it was just the two of them, speaking of nothing in particular and feeling absolutely everything. Warmth, she realized then, had not been coming from the room, but from within her._

_"You know," Anna said, running a hand down her arm, leaving goosebumps on its wake. "Something tells me you and I would have ended up together, regardless of whether or not Rapunzel had been a gay."_

_"A gay?"_

_"Yes."_

_"You're not helping your case, baby." Anna shushed her with another orange Skittle. She accepted it because to struggle against it would have been fruitless. "So that's what you think?"_

_Anna tossed a yellow candy up but it hit her cheek rather than falling into her open mouth. It fell onto the carpet, bounced a little, then landed under the desk. The two made eye contact, Anna gave her a sheepish grin. "You don't?" she asked, picking the conversation back up._

_"I asked you first."_

_She rolled her eyes playfully. "Yeah, I do. Or at least I'd like to think so."_

_"Why?" Elsa prodded._

_"Why are you so curious all of the sudden?"_

_Elsa shifted her hands higher up to where Anna's ribs were, right on the spot she knew she was the most ticklish. She pressed gently, causing the girl to giggle and squirm. "Okay, fine!" She tried to pry herself away from Elsa's hands. "But I'm warning you, this is probably one of the cheesiest things you'll ever hear."_

_"I don't mind cheesy," she told her, moving her hands again so that they could settle behind her back._

_Anna paused. She asked: "Do you believe in fate?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Right." She shrugged. "So there you go."_

_Elsa laughed a little. "There you go what?"_

_Anna leaned in to bury her face in the crook of her neck. She groaned, making Elsa laugh harder. It was hard thinking this way, when Anna was still straddling her and being nestled in her arms. But Elsa wanted to hear what she had to say, no longer out of curiosity, but because she sought to know whether Anna thought the same way._

_The girl mumbled something against her neck, warm air spreading over her skin. "What's that?" Elsa asked._

_Anna pulled back. "I was saying," she began again, "That I think we were meant to meet that night. And if not that night then eventually, at another time." She reached for Elsa's hands and interlaced their fingers. It was this on which she focused as she continued to say: "It might sound dumb and pretentious, but I think we fit. I think we were meant to be in each other's lives one way or the other."_

_She squeezed her hands so that Anna would look up. As soon as she did, Elsa gave her a soft, lingering kiss that lasted enough seconds for her to sigh through her nose. It grounded her, yet shook her to the core._

_When they finally parted, Elsa smiled against her lips. "You'll always have me."_

* * *

The park is swathed with the laughter of children. In the distance, a labrador runs across the green lawn, chasing happily after a tennis ball while the breeze sweeps over the grass on which they step. It is a warm, early afternoon, but the sun doesn't burn Elsa's skin as they walk quietly through the park, only exchanging words when it comes to deciding where to sit. Brief sentences separated by awkward pauses; Elsa's heart beats and thrums blood in her neck as if it were trying to fill in the silence.

She feels as though she were seeing Anna for the first time. Yet, everything about her is achingly familiar. Like the way she treads on the grass not in a lineal path but irregularly, taking large and small steps so as not to squash the tiny flowers that sprout randomly across the field. Or the way she nibbles at her lip, looking down; the way she has her hands buried deep inside her pockets because she doesn't quite know what to do with them. The way loose strands of hair fall over her forehead and the way she so often doesn't pay them any mind.

Elsa wishes she could reach out and tuck them back behind her ear. To smile and say: _How I've missed you._ But of course, she doesn't. Because there is an ocean in between them; deep, cold and terrifying. And Elsa doesn't want to swim through it thinking she's alone.

They reach the picnic tables and choose the one farthest from the main lawn. They have distanced themselves from the sound of children; the happy labrador and its family of three. They sit across from each other, exchange looks, tentative smiles, and silence. Time and distance weigh heavily on them and, like unwelcome guests, they sit at the table too. They prevent them from speaking freely, from even finding the means to begin.

Unable to bring herself to speak just yet, Elsa watches Anna trace circles on the rough wooden surface of the table, perhaps, too, thinking of the right words. For some reason this takes her back to one of the many scenes she'd made up in her mind; the one where they met again outside that coffee shop, where the breeze picked up and the rest of the world came to a standstill. She'd thought about kissing Anna too, just like they did in movies. But now, sitting across from her, Elsa almost feels like laughing. How foolish that had been; how far away from reality it all stood. The simplest of images are sometimes the hardest to recreate; people dream up the end result but rarely consider the path that will take them there. And Elsa realizes this now. The universe doesn't work that way: it will not hand this back to them.

So she takes a deep breath, and decides it's time to begin. "How—"

"I—"

They stare at each other. Anna laughs nervously. "I'm sorry. Go on."

She bites her lip. "I was just... going to ask how you were."

"Oh, right." She clears her throat. "I'm... okay, I guess. What about you?"

Elsa wills herself to relax a little, to ease the tension that is beginning to accumulate on her shoulders. Words are starting to rush towards her mouth, stumbling on one another, making up an incomprehensible series of sentences that don't leave her lips. She fixes her eyes on Anna then, and finds that she is patiently waiting for an answer.

"I'm well..."

At this, Anna gives her a sad smile. "That's good to hear," she says.

Elsa doesn't know how to proceed, so she looks away for a moment. There is a kid not too far away from the picnic area kicking a soccer ball with his father. The kid's face is serious, resolute, and Elsa has a feeling this isn't just a weekend pastime for him. For a second, she pictures herself coming up to him and saying, _Don't sacrifice one dream for another._

She turns back to Anna, who doesn't seem to have stopped watching her. "How are things at the hospital?" she asks her.

On her lap, she wrings her hands. She doesn't know how much detail she should add to her answers. She doesn't know how to do normal when it comes to Anna anymore. _It'll take some time,_ she hears a voice tell her from the back of her mind. It sounds a lot like Theo.

"They're good," she says, "I'm working on my fellowship now."

Anna tilts her head. "Congratulations," she tells her. "How much longer now?"

Elsa can't help but flutter her eyes closed. How many times did Anna ask her this when they were together? How often would Elsa shake her head at her playful impatience, pepper her with kisses and give her an answer? "About two more years."

"They'll fly by."

"Just like they always do."

There is a laden pause through which Elsa has to push through in order to continue. "How about you? Any upcoming works?"

Anna shakes her head good-naturedly. "Apart from the short stories and articles I've been publishing at work, not yet. But I'm not... discouraged I guess is the right word. I can't say impatient 'cause I'm working on that too."

One of her statements catches her attention until Elsa realizes she's known about this through her conversations with Rapunzel. "So you quit, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Anna says, slightly more at ease. "I couldn't stand it anymore."

She nods slowly, almost approvingly. However, she can't keep away the brief pang of bitterness that surges up in her. She thinks of asking Anna why she didn't do this sooner, when their relationship was still salvageable, but she stops herself before she can fully entertain the notion. There is no point in reopening old wounds, in bringing up the unchangeable. There is no place for weary resentment in Elsa's heart anymore.

"I'm happy for you," she says instead, knowing that she means it.

"Thank you," Anna whispers.

Elsa looks away again, her eyes searching for any signs of the labrador, as if by finding it she could be able to retain some of its comfort. But she doesn't: it is long gone. What else should they be talking about? she wonders. Should they be talking about the definite past, about the uncertain future, or about the strange present in which they now find themselves?

"There's a lot..."

"I'm sorry?"

Realizing she's spoken out loud she repeats herself, "There's a lot we should be talking about."

Anna exhales. "Yeah..."

She glances down at the hands on her lap before she speaks quietly: "I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I," Anna admits softly, "But..." She pauses. Elsa notices the struggle behind her eyes, the knitting of her brow. "Can I ask you something first?

"Sure," Elsa whispers. She thinks she should be bracing herself for whatever question Anna is about to ask her, but she doesn't. There is no energy left in her for this kind of struggle; no walls that need to be taken down. All she wants is to find the current and let herself be carried by it.

"The text I sent you," Anna starts. "If Theo hadn't... you know. If she hadn't asked you to, would you have decided to never speak again?"

The air leaves her lungs in an imperceptible sigh. The hesitation in Anna's eyes, the fear of a certain answer, makes Elsa's heart ache. She realizes just now how important this question is to the both of them, despite never having thought of it herself. Whatever she chooses to tell Anna will end things completely or allow them the opportunity to start over. But the truth is that while Elsa has her own reserves about simply starting over, the real answer had never been in question. She wants Anna in her life.

So she speaks with the truth, because to lie at this point; to pretend; to hide behind the fake comfort of silence, would be to disregard the last three years of separation as nothing but a waste of time.

"I would have," she states. Across from her, Anna breathes out a sigh through her nose. Her relief is palpable, but Elsa has not finished speaking. "I kept reading your text," she admits, "But every time I tried to type a response I kept getting stuck in my own words. I felt like I needed time, and then I just wasn't sure what to tell you."

"Do you still feel like you need time?" Anna asks her.

She pauses. "No," she says, "I think we'll never move forward if either one of us keeps asking for time."

Anna nods slowly. Her hand twitches over the table, moving towards Elsa before she retrieves it by resting it on her lap. "Is that what you want then? To move forward?"

It suddenly occurs to her that Anna has been doing all the asking. "What do _you_ want, Anna?"

A softened expression appears on her face. "I already told you... And I meant every word I said."

She nods slowly. "Okay..."

Anna shrugs lightly before she resumes tracing patterns on the wood. "Then again, moving forward can mean a lot of things, can't it? It can mean that we both agree to go our separate ways. Or that we move forward by staying friends. Or that... you know. We move forward and see where this takes us."

Elsa watches her for a moment. When she thought about seeing Anna again, she would often come up with visions in her mind. She would think about what it would be like to run into her in the train or at a coffee shop; in Union Square or in Washington Square. Each and every time she would think about all the things they would say to each other to fix this. Yet, sitting across from Anna now, she cannot recall any of these visions, any of the words she should have said by now. But perhaps, she thinks, it is for the best that all of this has left her. Because things _have_ changed, and because there are certain obstacles standing in their way; obstacles that must be brought up and talked about if the two of them can ever decide on their definition of moving forward.

Suddenly, flashes of a nightclub scene begin passing through her mind. A crowd of people where Anna stands out as if under a spotlight. A stranger in her arms. A kiss. A dropping of her stomach.

Elsa breathes out a heavy sigh before she confesses, "I saw you the night before."

Anna frowns. "The night before what?"

"The night before you texted me," she says, "I saw you."

It takes a beat for Anna to realize what she's meant, but when she does, regret clouds her features. "At the club?"

She nods. Anna says: "You saw what happened is what you mean." When Elsa nods again she takes a deep breath and, without looking away, she tells her, "I'm sorry, Elsa."

It is then that it strikes her: Anna has matured. Three years ago, she knows Anna would have looked down, mumbled an apology and hunched her shoulders in regret. But there is something in the way she's apologizing now that not only shows that she is genuinely sorry, but that she's owning up to it, fully and without hesitation.

"You don't have to say sorry," she finds herself saying, "That's... not why I said it. But you should know I saw you and you should know as well what I felt in that moment."

Anna places her forearms on the table, leaning closer. "I was planning on telling you. Especially because it didn't mean anything... You know that, right?"

Elsa smiles a little. It doesn't surprise her that she was—Anna has never been one for lying or concealing things—but the statement brings about a sense of ease that she doesn't wish to ignore, let alone suppress. She will not lie to herself: it feels nice knowing Anna still finds her worthy of the truth.

"Were you drunk?" she asks out of curiosity.

The girl winces. "Very."

She could almost chuckle. "I left as soon as I saw you kissing that girl... And at first all I could think about was how upset I was that you were kissing somebody else." She begins picking at a chip on the table, choosing not to dwell on her own words for too long. "But then I started thinking that maybe it wasn't about the kiss, but about how much time I spent waiting for you to come back."

"I shouldn't have let so much time get in between us..."

"But you did," Elsa replies softly, "And I did, too."

"'Cause life happens?"

The corner of her lips twitch at the reference. "Because life happens."

A moment passes before Anna speaks again. "What else did you feel that night?"

"A lot," she chuckles dryly. "I was frustrated at you to begin with, because you'd called—apparently drunk—and I spent the whole week trying to figure out what to do about that. Then I was tipsy... then I was angry. At you and then at myself.... I felt as if this whole time I had put myself second, with half of my focus invested in my work and the other half spent longing for you, only to find out that you had already moved on."

"But I didn't."

Elsa is surprised by the firmness of her words, but she has no time to respond before she notices realization dawn upon Anna. "That's why you never responded to my text."

"... Yes."

She deflates, sighs, then begins nodding. "I understand."

"You do?" Elsa asks, wanting to know what she has to say about this.

But instead, Anna's gaze connects with hers. It is vulnerable, almost hurt when she asks, "Did you think I wouldn't?"

She averts her eyes, recalling the words Theo had said to her a week ago. _Understanding comes with love._ It sure does, she wants to tell her, but her nose is suddenly stinging and a knot is forming in her throat. Because Theo had been right. Because what she saw in Anna's eyes wasn't just vulnerability, but love. Because Theo was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Elsa?"

She looks back at her. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, blinking away the traces of tears welling up in her eyes. She tries to get back on topic. "I just... don't want us making the same mistakes."

Again, she sees Anna's hand move and curl into itself. She wonders, if they were to touch, would she want to pretend the last three years never happened?

"I don't want you to put yourself second," Anna murmurs.

"Isn't that one of those things that's easier said than done?"

"Definitely, but... you have my support, Elsa. If you need space I can give you space. If you wanna talk about it, we can talk about it. Or if you need me to lend you some self-help books I can do that too. I have a bunch at home."

She feels like laughing, but somehow she feels too tired to muster the energy for it. "I think taking it slow will be fine."

A tentative smile grows on her face. "Yeah?"

She reciprocates it. "Yeah."

"Things have changed," Anna tells her. "But I'm not going anywhere this time. You said you don't want us making the same mistakes again and you're right. No more bottling things up, no more staying quiet, no more distancing myself from you. That's not me—it's _never_ been me. So I'm here now, no matter what."

A sigh leaves Elsa's lips as she takes this in. Outside of this space they've made for themselves, father and son continue to play, and the trees continue to whisper with the wind. The sun shines, but doesn't burn.

The universe, it has never cared for hardships, for losses or gains. It never smiles and extends its hand to give you what you ask for. _Work for it_ , it tells you before giving you its back. It pretends not to be looking, but it knows when you're ready. And while Anna may be, Elsa knows she isn't. Call it self-worth, or giving herself the time, the space, and the value she deserves. She can't give it a name; all she knows is what her heart is asking for.

"Can I ask you something?" Elsa says softly.

"Of course."

She pauses. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"If you didn't move on," she says, "How was it that you dealt with this?"

Anna processes this before she chuckles embarrassedly. "I didn't fare much better than you if that's what you think. But I guess I did have a way of coping."

"What was it?" she asks, more curious now than before.

She ducks her head shyly. "The truth?"

"Please."

Raw honesty swarms in Anna's eyes when she finally responds. "I wrote about you."

* * *

Today had been one of those days that made Elsa consider canceling. Coming home from the clinic, she'd felt more than ready to change out of her clothes, order take-out and watch a movie. The temptation had been there all along, calling out to her from the sofa in her apartment, from the bed as she dressed up rather than down, even from the kitchen where she could have been unpacking her Thai food if only _she had decided to stay in_.

But Elsa didn't. Because dinner at an Italian restaurant sounded particularly nice as well. And it had been, no matter how much Elsa thought she would reminisce her comfy couch and her lousy dinner choices throughout the night.

She'd let Tracy choose the place. One, because according to almost everyone who knew her, Elsa had no social life and thus had no real knowledge of what a 'cool' spot in the city looked like (she did—just didn't actually attend most of them—and what was wrong with that?). Two, because Tracy was well-versed in point number one.

Elsa had not regretted going out as much as she regretted agreeing to dessert, but decisions had been made and consequences must be lived with. All she had to do was walk it off: regret and burp every other step. Groan, complain out loud. Repeat.

She stands outside the restaurant watching Tracy pull a cigarette out of the blue American Spirit pack she had in the pocket of her jean jacket.

"I thought you quit smoking," she comments.

Tracy raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Me too," she mumbles through the cigarette between her lips. She lights it up, inhales deeply, then tilts her head away from Elsa. The smoke that leaves her mouth forms a cloud, like gray tendrils spreading in the night. "Don't doctors have the tendency to point out how bad this is to a smoker?"

Elsa rolls her eyes. "It literally says in the package."

The girl chuckles. "I doubt people who smoke like to spend time reading that reminder."

"Well," she says, smirking, "That's not on any of us anymore, is it?"

Tracy hums as she takes another drag. Again, she blows away from Elsa, this time taking a step back. "I barely started again. Nerves and all that."

"You? Nervous? I thought you were incapable of feelings."

"I catch those from time to time."

For a moment Elsa watches her study the cigarette tucked between her index and middle finger. "Why are you nervous?" she asks her.

Tracy's face turns into an expression of distaste. "I've been thinking about quitting, once I get back from my trip."

"Why?"

The tip of the cigarette lights up angrily. Tracy exhales, "Why not?"

Elsa shakes her head and shrugs. She doesn't have an answer to that.

"You know it's funny," Tracy then says. "It seems so simple for people like you. Professionally speaking, at least. You go through nine, ten years of studying and practicing, but you _know_ what's on the other side of those nine, ten years. All you gotta do is make one decision and commit to it. Did you ever wish to become anything other than a doctor?"

The first thing Elsa thinks of saying is Yes, back when she was a kid she wanted to be a chef, and then she wanted to be like her daddy, and then she wanted to be like her momma. But what kid doesn't jump from one dream to the other like it's a game of hopscotch?

"Not really."

Tracy nods as if she had been expecting this exact answer. She exhales smoke through her nose this time before she smiles and says, "Some of us don't get to have that kind of satisfaction."

The statement strikes Elsa with a dreadful sense of déjà vu, dragging her back to one of the many arguments she had with Anna soon before their break up. Accused of the lack of time in her hands and fired up by her inability to change this, Elsa had grown defensive. _At least I'm_ doing _something,_ she had said with bitterness sprouting from her like bile up her throat. Anna had looked hurt, stunned to silence. _It's so easy for you to say,_ she'd coldly responded as she gathered up her things. _Try being in my shoes for once, maybe then you'll understand how lucky you are._

Elsa gulps harshly, the stench of cigarette bringing her back to the present. She spent so long attributing Anna's response to a defensiveness meant to equal her own. But now, standing so far away from this memory and hearing something so strikingly similar dressed as if it were the most simple of truths, Elsa is beginning to realize how wrong she had been; how little she had actually understood.

Tracy drops the burnt out fag on the sidewalk and crushes it with the end of her boot. "You okay?" she checks in.

Elsa blinks a few times. "Yeah," she responds weakly, recuperating. They begin to walk away from the restaurant without deciding on another destination. "So what would you do if you quit?"

"I have enough money saved up to travel for a while."

"But you can't possibly be thinking about traveling for the rest of your life."

"Why not?" she defies again. She gives her a smirk. "Maslow never said anything about not reaching the top of the pyramid through traveling."

"I guess," she replies with a shrug.

"I have a friend who did just that. He packed a bag and began traveling. He spent who knows how many months in a silent retreat in India, joined a theater club in Russia and became a hippie in Peru. He was thirty when he did that, so technically I'm already late."

"So it's a race now?"

Tracy's eyes search hers. "I'm not ready to settle down," she states.

Elsa nods despite struggling to understand this. But perhaps Tracy is telling the truth; perhaps Anna had been right all along. Some people make one decision that echoes throughout the years: a profession that lasts a lifetime. Some people live based on a series of decisions, jumping from one another like it's hopscotch, regretting some, enjoying others. Some spend their lives searching for the means to create as if it were as essential as breathing, because they do not know how to exist without it. In the end the point is the same: to be happy.

"I guess... yolo then."

Tracy guffaws. "Did you just say yolo?"

"It sounded fitting."

The girl laughs some more. They continue walking until they reach Union Square, weaving their way through the evening rush, the clueless tourists, the foolhardy New Yorkers. Within the park, the city dims. The buzz quietens, becomes an incomprehensible series of commotions. And Elsa brings up something she had been considering on and off all night.

"I saw Anna the other day," she says offhandedly.

"Oh," Tracy responds, her face switching from surprised to smug in the span of a second. "Should I say congratulations or not yet?"

"Not... yet?" she chuckles dryly. "You make it all sound so formal."

Beneath the warm lampposts of the park, Elsa catches a smirk. "I'm happy for you, is that better?" When Elsa does little to respond, she adds: "It took you guys long enough."

" _You_ think that?"

"Why wouldn't _I_ think that?" Elsa bites the inside of her cheek and averts her eyes, getting a disbelieving laugh out of Tracy. "It would be pretty stupid of me to be pinning after you after all this time, don't you think?"

"That's exactly what I did with Anna," she mumbles, redirecting the stupidity of it all towards herself.

"Yeah, but it's different." Tracy tries to catch her eye. "You do see how it's different, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. Then it's time for you to admit that love makes you do some pretty stupid shit, and move on."

Elsa tightens her arms around her midriff. She catches sight of a couple heavily making out, cringes, then asks, "You don't think it's lame?"

Tracy snorts. "Oh yeah, I do. But fuck what everyone says, right? There are worse things you could be doing with your life than thinking about your ex."

Elsa tries shrugging but it comes out dispirited. "I just felt like..." she trails off.

"Like what?"

"... Like an idiot."

"Ah, yes. _That_ feeling." She pats the front pocket of her jacket, where the cigarettes hide, before she seems to think better of it. "Which leads to the million dollar question: How long are you gonna be an idiot for?"

Elsa makes a face. "That's a half-assed advice."

She nods proudly. "It sure is. But we both know you never meant to come to me for advice," she teases. "You came to me because you needed the distraction and someone who wouldn't remind you so much of Anna."

Embarrassed, she bites her lip. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you're easy to read when you're drunk. And because that's literally what you said the first time we went out."

"I'm sorry," she mumbles.

Tracy remains undeterred as she says: "Don't be. I've never been easily disillusioned."

Elsa nods, accepting this, allowing the door to close behind them. Before long, they reach the other end of the park. Inevitably, they eye the bookstore across the street before Tracy asks her if she wants to come along to find a couple of books she can take with her to the trip. Elsa agrees, still stuffed, still somewhat unable to regret being outside.

"You know," Elsa finally says after Tracy opens the bookstore's door for her, "I really couldn't stand you at the beginning."

Tracy scoffs playfully. "Must you _remind_ me?"

"Yes," Elsa drawls. "Your ego needs to be kept in check."

The girl rolls her eyes. "Sure, Jan."

"Why _were_ you so insufferable?"

Tracy glances at her, hazel eyes honest yet eternally, stupidly confident. "Because I wanted what you have," she says. "Probably still would if you rubbed it in my face." When Elsa begins to smile, she picks up a book at random before casually adding: "And because you're hot. Can you blame a stubborn woman with eyes and a libido?"

She pushes Tracy away, the beginnings of a laugh forming inside of her.

* * *

The first time Elsa performed a cardiac catheterization had been on the first year of her fellowship. It had felt a lot like internship, except by then she was in her late twenties and had been seven years into her medical education. Dr. Stern, the cath lab chief, hadn't exactly eased the tension with his unnerving stares and his pompous talk of seminars only he seemed to have attended. When she'd first scrubbed in with him, he went rapid-fire through a series of instructions on how to operate the catheter machine. Her hands shook in a fine tremor as he sped through the different ways to flush the catheter, get rid of bubbles, inject X-ray opaque dye into the coronary arteries. "Whatever you do," he'd said, tapping on a small white knob, "don't inject unless you turn this stopcock." She'd nodded, released air through her mouth. She did not feel ready, but a minute later Dr. Stern was already advancing the catheter up the aorta and twisting it around the arch where, with fine finger movements, he inserted it into the right coronary artery of the heart.

"Inject!" he'd boomed before Elsa reflexively stepped into the pedal that released the dye. "Stop!" he yelled. "I told you never to do that!"

Needless to say, it got easier. And as the months went by and she became familiar with every knob and combination, she realized that, like the heartbeat itself, catheterization was mechanical. Of course, Elsa could still sometimes hear in the distant consciousness of her mind a voice shout _Inject!,_ at which point she would have to take a couple of deep breaths, and begin.

Lightly sedated, her magnetic patient, Gerald, is smiling as she inserts a needle into his groin in preparation for the catheter. "It tickles," he mumbles, eliciting a chuckle out of the scrub nurse while Elsa begins to slip her way into the right coronary artery. The act of catheterization is procedural in its nature, and as such, it provides Elsa with a peculiar sense of comfort. When she performs a cath, everything around her often disappears for just a few minutes. The procedure, with her as conductor, is all that matters. She becomes a doer rather than a thinker, and seeing a plastic tube inside the heart quickly ceases to be a shock which, in the end, is the most shocking thing of all.

When she finishes with the angiogram, they transfer Gerald to a stretcher and roll him to the electrophysiology suite, where the defibrillator Elsa had insisted on for weeks was finally going to be implanted. Soon after, Abrams, the exuberant electrophysiology attending, enters the room with a flair. "Honey, I'm home," he exclaims to the nurses. Together, he and Elsa gown, mask and glove. She then goes to tip the table downward to put Gerald's head below his legs so that blood can fill his chest veins to make them more visible. Abrams injects him with local anesthetic. "That hurt," Gerald mumbles, and Abrams tells him to stop talking. "It's dangerous for you," he says, winking at Elsa before increasing the rate of the anesthetic drip.

Throughout most of the procedure, Elsa stands to the side, mostly watching as Abrams begins dissecting through the chest and burrowing a pocket for the defibrillator in Gerald's pectoral muscle. Every few minutes, Abrams steps back from the table and dances wildly to the songs on the radio.

When he begins slipping a plastic catheter into a vessel, he tells Elsa to take a closer look. He then inserts a thin electrode through the hollow catheter, inching closer to the heart, before pulling out the catheter and leaving the electrode in the right ventricle. He does the same thing for the heart's left ventricle and when he finally slips the generator into the pectoral pocket, he connects it to the wires. He steps back again and does a little dance to the beat of Peaches & Herb's _Shake Your Groove Thing._

They are done.

In order to test the device, Elsa must induce cardiac arrest ("It's time for you to kill your patient," Abrams has the morbid habit of saying). By delivering stimuli to the heart at a specific rate of milliseconds, Gerald's heartbeat on the monitor soon transforms into waves oscillating at different frequencies: ventricular fibrillation, the rhythm of death. Elsa swallows hard when someone in the room says, "Here we go." She tries not to think of her mother in moments like this. "Five... ten... fifteen." Looking over at Gerald, he is now unconscious. Then, a hard dull thump, as if someone had driven a fist into his chest. The defibrillator has fired. She feels herself breathe again.

A nurse lightly slaps Gerald's face. "Wake up, hon," she says. "It's all over."

When Elsa finally steps out into the hallway followed by Abrams, she is surprised to see that it is almost 1 PM. 

"I'm starving," Abrams groans. "Wanna join me for a burger?"

"I'm okay," she responds distractedly. "I should check on a few things anyway."

He flashes her with a grin, already moving away. "You should leave the overworking to the interns," he tells her. And with that, he is gone.

Elsa shakes her head as she watches him leave, thinking that perhaps there might be a dash of truth in his words. She knows she's overworked herself for the majority of her time working at this hospital. But once she starts the day, she's never known how to stop. Accidents never cease to happen; hearts are frail despite their inherent vigor; bodies can malfunction, even those that appear the strongest.

However, and contrary to assumptions, she has no work-related reason to stay here any longer.

She treads towards the locker room in order to pick up her things. Once there, she checks her phone to see if she has any new messages. She'd woken up this morning to find a text from Anna—a question—that she had not known how to respond to. _You don't have to ask me these kinds of things,_ she had wanted to say, but had refrained herself from doing it because tones are tricky when it comes to texting. Would she come off as curt? Annoyed? Upset? Elsa may want time, even space, but she did not want Anna to walk on eggshells. So she had decided to stick to a simple affirmative.

Finding her phone void of anything new, she puts it away. She's done a double take at the date even though she doesn't have to. The day hasn't slipped from her: it never once did. Still, she remains sitting on the bench, debating with herself. How much would be too much? And what would it mean if she acknowledged the date with a gesture? _Nothing_ , she tells herself, _It doesn't have to mean anything._ And even if it did... aren't they now on the same page?

Decidedly, Elsa leaves the locker room. She passes the cafeteria and sees Abrams already enjoying his burger. How he has the appetite of a teenage boy after surgery is beyond her. She passes by the gift shop, and glances at the items inside. Teddy bears, balloons, cards, books. She continues forward, out of the hospital.

Many things go through her mind as she makes her way down the street, as she enters the shop she'd so often passed by on her way to work, as she picks out what she's there to buy. She wonders what Anna thinks, if she is also experiencing this strange sensation of both impatience and patience; what's inevitable and what is necessary. If she also, truly agrees that slow is best. It is funny, Elsa thinks, that there used to be this sense of urgency when they first met. This desire to talk often and to see each other even more. Was it because they were scared to lose sight of each other? To wake up one day and realize that it had all been a dream; too good to be true?

And to realize that this is no longer the case. That the days since their second first time have gone by without the same kind of urgency, because as painful as it may have been, they have learned to live without the other. That perhaps it is because they have matured, or because slow is best, or simply because they are beginning to realize that life comprises more than just the love they share, no matter how great it might be.

She returns to the hospital in record time, and heads straight to the Cancer Center for the little time that's left of today's session.

In the end, Theo chose chemo. And unused still to the fact that the past two visits have been here and not at the senior center, Elsa has to shake off the unease that begins to crawl up her body at the first turn of the hallway. She feels as if there were still a part of her that refused to accept this, like a trick of her mind she thought herself too smart to believe.

Inside the chemotherapy room, Elsa spots the two of them three chairs away from the door. Theo has her eyes closed as she rests her head on the back of a cushioned chair, her feet propped on a footrest, a catheter connected to the back of her hand. Anna has her back facing Elsa, her nose buried in a book as she reads out loud. Suddenly, someone touches Elsa's shoulder. It is Gaby, the nurse who works at the senior center.

"Hey, hi," Elsa says lowly so as to avoid disturbing those in the room. "How is she?"

"She's doing well, given the circumstances."

She nods. It is nothing she wasn't expecting to hear.

"I wanted to give them some time alone," Gaby says, nodding at Anna and Theo. "But the session's almost over. I had to come back."

Elsa nods again, understanding. They make their way over to where the two sit, and almost as if Anna had sensed them she stops reading and turns around. Unexpectedly, Elsa sucks in a breath. She had not seen Anna since the day in Queens, and even though Anna had asked if she was okay with her coming to the hospital as well—even if Elsa did not think she needed to ask these things—she feels completely unprepared.

At the sudden interruption, Theo opens her eyes. "Hey, honey," she mutters, her voice more tired than usual.

"Hey," Elsa says, briefly snapping out of it. She walks around the chair to give her a loose embrace, painfully aware of Theo's thinning shoulders. "How are you feeling?" she asks, wishing to know straight from the source.

"I'm exhausted," she groans. "So. Damn. _Sleepy._ "

"You can take a small nap on our way back," Gaby comments.

Theo acknowledges this with a grumpy hum just as another nurse approaches them to let them know the treatment's done for the day. She slowly sets about taking out the IV catheter with Gaby's assistance while Elsa steps to the side, where Anna is already standing.

Glancing down at the book tucked under her arm, Elsa asks: "What were you reading?"

Anna appears surprised at the question—surprised, perhaps that Elsa is speaking to her at all—before she shows her the book.

"Oh."

"What? What's wrong with it?"

"It's just... an interesting choice _._ "

She frowns, looking down at the cover of the book. "Anna Karenina is a classic _._ "

Elsa has to fight off a smile. "That, it is."

Anna stares at her with something akin to suspicious amusement as she, too, struggles to ward off the smile on her lips. For a moment, that is all Elsa can focus on.

They leave the room with Theo being slowly guided by the girls' arms. She doesn't need them, she says, but the girls are adamant and Theo seems to have no energy to object.

"I'm sorry for being late today," Elsa says, silently thanking the charge nurse by looking over her shoulder.

Theo tries to wave her off, but can't. So she settles for tapping lightly at the forearm she's using as support. "How did the surgery go?" From the other side of her, Elsa notices Anna lean in to listen as well.

"No issues whatsoever," she says. "I'm just glad he finally decided to go through with it."

"He was stubborn as hell," Theo points out.

"Reminds me of someone," Elsa retorts, getting a shush out of her, catching the amused look on Anna's face.

Theo leaves after she makes them promise that they'll behave, take care and eat well, in exchange of her doing exactly the same thing. Yes, yes, yes, she grunts in response as she gets inside the taxi with the help of Gaby. She promises to get some rest too, says she'll sleep until next Saturday so help her God. The two of them wave goodbye before they watch the car move away from the curb, incorporate into traffic, and slowly drive away.

They stand, some feet away from each other, as if they were waiting for the car to fully disappear, leave Manhattan, drive through Queens and arrive at the center. They stand, without a clue as to what to do next.

"So..." Elsa clears her throat, turns to Anna, and stares.

"I—"

"I brought you something," she rushes out before she can give herself any more time to run.

Anna blinks. "Oh?"

Getting her backpack off her shoulders, Elsa tries to place it on her bent knee in order to unzip it, but something gets caught and she has to fumble with the zipper for an unnecessary amount of time. She then places the backpack down as much _off_ the floor as she can manage, laughs awkwardly when she still struggles for a few seconds, and clears her throat, louder this time. She can feel her cheeks burn as she straightens up, a small box of chocolate truffles in her hand.

"I... Um... Happy birthday." She hands the box to Anna, who remains standing exactly where she is, somewhat speechless.

"Elsa..."

"It's—it's okay. I... It's nothing."

Anna takes a step closer, ducking her head down in order to catch the gaze Elsa has averted. "It's not nothing," she tells her. "It means a lot. So thank you."

Willing herself to let out the air she's been holding, she murmurs, "You're welcome."

Anna gives her a smile, kind and reserved. Sad, because Elsa knows in her bones just how much she longs to reach out and give her a hug in this moment. But just as it came, it is gone, and Anna glances down to hide what Elsa feels.

"I should go too," she hears Anna say below the distant sound of a siren. "I promised Kristoff I would have lunch with him."

Elsa swallows, then nods. Reluctantly, she takes a step away to let her go. "Have fun?"

She chuckles. "I hope so."

The two of them linger until Anna takes a step away. She raises her hand, attempts a wave, then begins to leave. A second later, she turns back around. "Can I call you?" she asks. "Tonight... Can I give you a call?"

This shouldn't surprise her, she tries to tell herself. The question shouldn't warm her this much from the inside out. Yet, Elsa loosens the arms around her midriff and smiles a little when she finally says, "That would be nice."

* * *

"Absolutely not, Eugene."

"Oh, come on!" he pleads as they look at each other through the mirror. "It'll be like old times!"

"This is humiliating."

"It's just a Pikachu."

She stares wearily at her own reflection. A Pikachu. She's dressed as a _fucking_ Pikachu. "This isn't what we agreed on."

"No, I know," he says, grinning. "But hear me out. Rapunzel's gonna love this."

Elsa turns to him as best as she can in the costume. She feels as if she were wrapped inside a balloon with yellow arms and legs, and one tiny head—hers—sticking out. She feels like a joke. "Did I do something to you? Do you secretly hate me or something?"

Eugene bursts out laughing. "No, I actually love you for doing this."

"I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"Yet."

She rolls her eyes. "What's wrong with the other ideas we had? I thought you were set on that Empire State proposal. Hell, even your helicopter idea was better."

"Yes, but those are cliché ideas. I wanted something better, bigger, less forgettable."

She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at her own demise. "I'm going to kill you."

Eugene pats her costume-clad back. The sound comes out dull because she's all big and chunky now. "You're not the only one," he states.

"Who else agreed to this circus?"

His face splits into a shit-eating grin. "Everyone."

" _Everyone?_ "

"Even Anna."

The color flushes down her cheeks. This is absolutely mortifying. "Things are still awkward between us," she mumbles.

Eugene looks her square in the eye. "Is it something you can't stand? 'Cause if it is I can just call it off and we can stick to plan A. No biggie."

Elsa takes a deep breath as she petulantly flaps her Pikachu arms up and down. She wants to say that no, she can't, but that would be a lie. She's enjoyed being around Anna the last first and couple of times, even if things are barely on a stage she could call normal. Certainly not 'old times'. Her downfall, however, occurs when she pictures her cousin's elation and she realizes that this might be somewhat kind of worth it.

"Fine, I'll do it."

"Good, because I can't take you seriously when you're wearing that thing."

Elsa feels like kicking him right then, throughout the week, and on the day of the proposal. She thinks she could fight him just like she's seen happening in those YouTube videos where some random person records two mascots having a throw down. It is Times Square after all, no one will probably care if a Pikachu is beating the crap out of Iron Man. Oh yes, she could get away with this, she thinks. No one has to know.

This is what keeps going through her mind as she starts putting on the _thing_ inside a Starbucks restroom. She's the second one to go in. Sasha—proudly dressed as Chewbacca—is waiting outside. Knowing him he's most likely posing for pictures with tourists already, which somehow makes her hurry up even more. Her shoulder keeps bumping against the wall as she jumps on one foot and tries to get the other inside the yellow boot, hard enough as it is because this obesity of a costume won't let her bend down. She heaves out a groan when she finally succeeds. The arms are next: two yellow, chubby unbending extremities. She then looks at herself in the mirror, her hair disheveled and her cheeks red from exertion. _Doctor Anderssen, cardiology fellow, nice to meet ya._

She takes a hold of the chunk of a head that she's somehow managed to hang off the hooks on the door and puts in an abnormal effort to twist the handle in order to get out. She's starting to grow claustrophobic inside this yellow monstrosity and inside this tiny bathroom that smells like dirty mop. When the handle finally gives in, she charges out without a second thought.

"Ow—"

"Shit—"

"Oh my God—"

"Oh God _,_ I'm so sorry." She's bumped straight into Anna, almost pushing her up against a wall. The girl is staring at her with wide eyes and an expression that is on the verge of a laugh.

She could kill Eugene right now. She really, _really_ could.

Anna covers her mouth, but the giggles seep through the cracks of her fingers. "You're looking great," she says.

She rolls her eyes despite her mortification. "Like you'll look any better, Elmo," she retorts after glancing down at the mocking-looking head tucked under the girl's arm.

Anna laughs loudly while Elsa tries to ignore the flourish that occurs inside her chest. "I couldn't beat you," she tells her. "Seriously this is... this is amazing."

The unexpectedly low tone of her voice combined with the proximity of their bodies makes Elsa's cheeks grow hot. "I—outside. I'm gonna go." She leaves a chuckling Anna behind while she curses under her breath. It's a walk of shame from the restroom to the crowded street.

There are two Chewbaccas loitering about by the time she makes it outside and Elsa doesn't know which one is Sasha. She is far too distracted anyway, because a pair of strong arms have suddenly wrapped around her thrice-as-big body and they are not Eugene's. They are Kristoff's.

He laughs as he lifts her up the floor, yells out her name while she feels like he could squeeze her out of this Pikachu costume if he wanted to. "Kristoff," she acknowledges him. One of her yellow arms is slipping out. Her chunky head is on the floor. _Oh no,_ she thinks, _the GERMS._

When he puts her down he picks up the head for her. "I'm sorry," he says, still laughing. "It's just so good to see you again."

She looks at him for the first time since this whole thing began; for the first time in she doesn't know how long. Joy fills her up from the inside at the sight of him, his boyish smile, his kind eyes. His shorter hair that makes him look more grown up even though he probably still spends his weekends playing video games. Elsa doesn't realize until that moment just how much she'd missed him.

"It's good to see you too," she tells him.

He smirks. "And look at you killing it in that Pikachu costume."

She smacks him with her yellow useless limb, making him duck away with a laugh. And just like that, the time they spent apart is forgotten; a thing of the past.

"Where is your costume? And Eugene?"

Before Kristoff has the time to respond to those questions, a shrilling noise comes from behind her. She's startled to say the least but when she turns around she has no idea how to react. Sasha is taking off his Chewbacca head, smiling triumphantly. "How was it?"

"How was what?"

"My Chewbacca call."

"Oh, Jesus."

"It was great, dude," Kristoff tells him.

Eugene comes back from wherever he was almost at the same time that Anna comes out dressed as Elmo, a Starbucks iced coffee in her flurry, red hand. At least her fingers aren't for decoration purposes only. Her eyes glance at everybody else before settling on Elsa. Her cheeks are flushed and her braid, as it falls to one side, has a few strands of hair sticking out. She gives her a soft smile that Elsa reciprocates without an effort.

"Looking great there," Eugene says to Anna.

"Shut up, loser."

He ruffles her hair and she moves away from him until she's standing next to Elsa. They share another look before Anna begins sipping her coffee, shy all of the sudden. "Okay," Eugene announces, "Rap's on her way already so we should hurry up." He turns to Kristoff. "You're next, bro."

With a lot of grunting and reluctant sighs, Kristoff walks his duffel bag and himself inside the Starbucks.

"What's he dressing up as?" Elsa asks Anna, subtly aware that she could have asked Eugene instead.

But Anna's only response is a mischievous glint in her eye as she suppresses a smirk by wrapping her lips around the green straw. "You'll see."

Winnie-the-Pooh. Kristoff is dressed up as Winnie-the-Pooh, and suddenly Elsa doesn't feel so bad anymore. She thinks nobody does. Not even the amused group of Hispanic men who are watching from afar, getting ready to put on their own mascot costumes for another evening of actual work.

In a laughing fit Eugene goes to change as well and comes back out dressed as a hunky Iron Man.

"Why does _he_ get to be a superhero?" Kristoff whines from Winnie-the-Pooh's mouth hole.

"Because I'm the one proposing."

After finishing the iced coffee in two large, brain-freezing gulps, Anna goes to throw away the cup and returns placing Elmo's smiling head on. "You look like the junkie version of Winnie-the-Pooh," she tells Kristoff.

Elsa giggles as she puts on Pikachu's massive head. Next to her Sasha is laughing, but the only way anyone can tell is because his shoulders are shaking. He looks gigantic in that thing. No wonder Eugene picked it out for him.

The proposal is simple, Eugene explains through his Iron Man mask after he's gathered everyone around by the Starbucks entrance: Chewbacca, Elmo, Winnie-the-Pooh and Pikachu. When Rapunzel shows up at the red stairs they will begin dancing to some music ("Which music?" Elsa asks. Eugene says, "You'll know") like it's a flash mob ("No choreography?" says Sasha. "Just improvise." Chewbacca looks at everyone in the group: "Just follow me." Inside the costumes, nods all around) while Rachel ("Who's Rachel?" Anna asks. "Will you guys let me finish?") records the whole thing. Rachel is Rapunzel's friend and coworker who is also a videographer. She makes cool stuff. Anyway, while she records, the whole thing will also show up on the large screen over there. You know, the one. Everyone nods. They know. And at some point which is rather vague and indefinite Eugene will step through the ridiculous troop of mascots and get on one knee. Speech will proceed, strangers all around will begin clapping and snapping pics, yada, yada. He'll take care of the rest.

Elsa looks around to discern everyone's reactions, forgetting that she can't see any of them. So they begin moving in the direction of the red stairs, which feels like a rather long path to tread given how Elsa has to do it in oversized boots. Next to her she can see Anna waving at people while Sasha keeps doing his strange shrilling sounds. Ahead of them Kristoff is walking with Eugene, probably still whining. An Asian couple stops Elsa at some point. "No, no, no—" She tries to wave them off but they must think she's saying hi because they step closer for a picture, peace sign and all. From under Elmo's costume, she hears the faint sound of a laugh. Elsa plots ways to kill Eugene.

By the time they reach the stairs she is already sweating. Sasha stretches out his synthetically hairy arm to pat her head. The thudding echoes inside her costume.

"How're we feeling?" she thinks he's asking.

"I'll get back to you on that," she says, loud enough that he may hear her. Somewhere not too far off Elmo is facing her, but Elsa has no idea whether Anna is looking at her or talking to Kristoff. She bites her lip, wishing to suppress the irrational hopes that it's the former.

"She's here guys!" someone yells. Eugene maybe.

Despite his half-assed instructions, the queue of the music is rather obvious. Mere seconds after the announcement of her cousin's arrival, music begins coming off from somewhere in the general direction of everywhere. It is loud enough for it to be heard above the cacophonous, buzzing sound of Times Square and loud enough for Elsa to wonder just who on earth he paid off to have it happen. The upbeat strumming of a guitar opens up to Freddie Mercury's voice, and Elsa recognizes the song immediately. She'd heard it so many times coming from Rapunzel's room when they still lived together that she'd had to ask. "Because," her cousin had said with a shrug and a far-off smile, brush in hand, overalls stained with paint, "It reminds me of him."

For a second she forgets that Sasha is their self-assigned choreographer until he moves to stand in front of the four of them. His steps are simple, iconic, and Elsa can't help but laugh as he does the Twist and the Carlton, his Chewbacca arms swinging around as if he's done this his whole life. _Doctor Laskin, pediatric cardiology fellow, nice to meet ya._

From where she is Elsa can get a clear view of Rapunzel, who stands with wide eyes and a stunned smile, clearly confused as to why five random mascots are dancing in front of her—seemingly _for_ her. People begin to gather around the group with phones in their hands. Some of them are clapping, a couple others are whistling, and Elsa laughs harder because this is highly mortifying and still somewhat exhilarating. She moves her Pikachu arms around, bounces its yellow-tailed butt up and down. Next to her, Anna appears to be dancing her heart out so much so that Elsa thinks Elmo's head might fall off. On the other side, Kristoff is following along with the Disco Finger. And Elsa's smile broadens. Because she needed this, she realizes. This silly, borderline impromptu proposal idea that almost made her kill Eugene.

They dance—in front and around Rapunzel—until the song begins to wane and transition to a slower tune. It is then that Elsa catches a glimpse of Eugene slowly stepping through in all his Iron Man glory. Almost as if Sasha _had_ been doing this his whole life, he takes up the queue by stepping sideways, doing less dancing and more swaying. Elsa follows suit despite her heart doing somersaults inside her chest, deliriously nervous for him even though she knows she doesn't have to be. A crowd is now surrounding them but all she can focus on is the sight of her cousin's curious expression as he takes deliberate steps towards her, the gasp she lets out when he takes off his mask, and the hands she brings up to her face when he gets on one knee.

No longer dancing, Elsa takes off her Pikachu head and from her peripheral vision notices everyone else do the same. Some people begin cheering as Eugene speaks the words she knows he's been going over for weeks, but it is when Rapunzel nods happily and throws her arms around his shoulders that the crowd erupts in applause. Elsa's eyes brim with tears of joy as she watches him lift her up the floor and spin her around in circles; the dazzling lights of Times Square as their background.

The sight overwhelms her with happiness before she looks to the side, her eyes falling on the girl standing not too far from her. It takes only seconds for Anna to look back at her. She in her Elmo body and Elsa in her chunky Pikachu that's making her sweat almost as bad as her boxing sessions. They share a smile for this moment that is not about them or about what they once had or about what they seek again, but about the people they love. About the bond between Eugene and Rapunzel; about Sasha and his Chewbacca calls; about Kristoff and his Winnie-the-Pooh issues.

All of this, Elsa realizes, that in the end made it all completely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could very much be a good last appearance for Tracy. However, I'll leave the decision up to you guys:  
> ( ) moar Tracy  
> ( ) nah Tracy  
> ( ) whatever


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